Save Me or Should I Save You First?
by smilelaughread
Summary: Hermione's drowning, and needs help. If that help happens to come from an unlikely source, so be it. Her living Professor appears as a ghost, proving to be everything she needs, no matter how impossible (the situation)(the possibility of friendship, or more) is. Written for chacus.amucus.kilier in the HPFC Fic Exchange.
1. Working Hard

_This was written for chacus_amucus_kilier in the HPFC Fic Exchange. I had a blast writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it as well!_

_Pairing: Severus/Hermione_ _Rating: T or M_ _Must Haves: Angry!Draco, Severus saves Hermione from an attack by Draco (before, during, or after), eighth year, Romance_ _No-Nos: Present or future Romione_ _Bonus: Hermione and Draco have a heart to heart and he apologizes, smut scenes_

* * *

**-Chapter 1- Aug 24**

The hospital wing at Hogwarts looked almost the same as it had before the Final Battle. That was to say, the volunteers had done a wonderful job fixing the place up. The white walls gleamed – maybe not as brightly – and the floors squeaked beneath entrants' shoes.

Hermione took a look at the readings of the sole patient in the hospital wing and slumped into the chair at his bedside. She ran a hand through her tangled, impossible hair nervously, trying to muster up the energy to feel anything but disappointment and powerlessness, but her attempt was unsuccessful.

The tests had declared him exactly the same as last time: steady heartbeat, normal blood pressure, normal breathing. Also, there was very little to no activity in his brain and there were no fluctuations in his magic levels, which read to be keeping at a steady average.

He had been in this magical coma since the battle.

Harry'd insisted they return to find the man who had sacrificed so much to aid him, hoping against all hope that, though he had seemed to be dead... hoping that not all had been lost. He'd been dead, or had appeared to be, and all three of them had known that. He'd seemed to know of his imminent death, if he'd given up precious memories. It had been as though he was certain he was about to die. Completely convinced, with not a grain of doubt.

But something had needed fixing within all of them - maybe a way to make up for the destruction the war had caused. So they'd gone back.

Upon returning to the Shreiking Shack, they'd found and proved, once and for all, that their sour Professor had been good at Potions, not that there'd ever been much doubt.

Hermione, who had done a fair bit of reading about magical healing, all theoretical research with no time to test it out, had tried to place a stasis spell on their barely-breathing Professor. Upon further research, it was found that he had taken a precautionary venom-neutralising potion with him, smart man, and taken it just before his meeting with Voldemort. Unfortunately, the effects of the potion had only kicked in just in time, and despite both Hermione and Harry's wide range of spells that had aimed to try and revive the Professor, nothing had worked.

It had been obvious, though, that Severus Snape was still very much alive.

The squeaky floor announced the arrival of another person, no doubt Poppy Pomfrey back from St. Mungo's. The woman had been spending more and more of her time there in the past few months, even after the rebuilding of Hogwarts had been completed.

"No change?" Came the question. Hermione heard the exhausted hopefulness in her tone.

"No," Hermione's dejected reply was filled with unhappiness, though an attempt was made to mask it. Madam Pomfrey, for all she worked, didn't need Hermione to make things worse. "How was the hospital?"

"Dreadful. There are hundreds – thousands – of patients, and simply not enough manpower to manage." There was a heavy sigh.

"I see," Hermione said.

"Hermione, dear," the Healer said softly, with an edge of regret. "He is beyond help, but many who are not getting treated at St. Mungo's are not. You have improved your formidable skills drastically this summer, and you would truly be an enormous help to the Healers."

The offer was one that had been made many times before. Hermione responded the same way she always did, "I do not have the qualifications, magical skills, or training to be of any real help at the hospital." Inside, she wasn't protesting about her credentials – or lack thereof – but about taking her Professor, Severus, off of the precautionary spells that kept him alive. (Possibly, as they knew little of how to treat his condition). There was some deep-seated horror in her that quaked at the idea of losing him. Not an infalliable Professor, all-powerful. Never.

"Yes, but-" Madame Pomfrey began to say, but Hermione cut her off.

"Besides, school is starting up in a matter of weeks," revealed Hermione tightly. "I am planning to return to officially finish my schooling."

Somewhere inside of her she knew one of the reasons she was returning to Hogwarts was so that she could continue to keep an eye on Severus.

Throughout the exchange, Hermione didn't once look up from the sheets pulled tightly around Severus Snape's immobile body. It could have been a sign of disrespect, but Hermione and Poppy had worked in close quarters the past summer and often shared moments of camaraderie. This wasn't one of those close, almost familial, moments, but the two of them, despite the age difference, were friends.

She heard the older woman give another loaded sigh, felt a familiar, soft hand pat her on the head, and then heard the sounds of the Healer retreating to her office.

A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed her suspicion that it had gotten late, and Hermione straightened. She was tired down to the bone, and she needed to rest. The next day was sure to be as trying as those that had preceded it, and she was in dire need of time for repose.

Beside Severus' bed, which was in one of the most secluded areas of the hospital wing, there was an expanse of blank wall. There were no adornments to add colour; it was the same brilliant white as the rest of the wing. Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped at the wall, muttering something under her breath.

A door appeared where there had previously been nothing, and she stepped through. Upon seeing the familiar, sparsely decorated room she'd occupied for the past month or so, Hermione fell face first into the firm mattress of her bed and almost immediately fell asleep.

She dreamt of flashes of light that changed colour as they spiralled towards her. There were green flares that got her heart racing to an incredible speed, and the pale white of a spell that made the pain in her soul fade just momentarily. In her dream, she dodged and rolled away from the colours and lights, avoiding them.

They just kept coming though, new dangers and challenges that she couldn't possibly keep moving away from. She was sure to tire eventually, to surrender to the lights that couldn't be as bad as the burning in her lungs and the acrid taste on her tongue.

There were bursts of memories that wormed their way into the dream, filling the scene with blood and death. A pale face full of freckles lay still on the ground, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky, illuminating the face of whoever was making those lights shoot at her.

There was a woman, tall and pale, with enormous black hair, heavily lidded eyes, and voluminous, dark robes. Her wand was held almost carelessly and she cackled. As she turned and spun around, giving Hermione short breaks between the shots, there was a glint of silver. A knife dangled precariously from one pocket, something that could do so much damage; it could kill, it could torture. She was hard pressed, in her dream, to remember that she'd faced that dream in the most intimate way and _lied_.

Hermione hated and feared that dagger.

She awoke in a cold sweat, chest heaving in exertion, as though she really had been dodging the spells. Hermione pulled her body into an upright position on the bed, bringing her legs up to hug them. She was trembling and had to blink a few times to shake of the image of that dagger that haunted her dreams from her mind.

As the shaking began to calm and her heart rate returned to a normal speed, she reluctantly began to get out of her bed. The fresh breeze coming from a window that – Merlin knew how – opened to the outside reminded her that the crispness that came with fall was fast approaching.

And with it, Hogwarts.

Feeling even less rested than she had the evening before, Hermione began pulling on her clothing. She was nowhere near ready to go and push through one more day, but it was inevitable. Her hair fell down and across her face in crooked curls, so she hastily flicked them away.

With a watery smile directed at her reflection as she left her bathroom as she half-heartedly washed up, Hermione tried to bolster her energy and mood. She all but crashed into the door frame as she left the room, and then caught her fingers in the door as she tried to close it.

"Oh, bugger it all! Ouch!" Hermione flailed her fingers about, trying desperately to make the throbbing recede. Tears of frustration prickled at her eyes, blurring her vision momentarily. As she blinked them away, she caught Madam Pomfrey's amused glance, meeting the woman's eyes and actually realising she was there about ten seconds after she began hopping about.

"Well then, good morning," said the Healer, looking highly entertained – though the dark bags under her eyes exposed her fatigue. "Up until those antics you just pulled, I would have said you're developing your skills as a Healer very well."

A blush heated up Hermione's face. "My apologies," she said. "I'm still feeling groggy."

Madam Pomfrey waved a dismissive hand at Hermione, "Water under the bridge, my dear. Now," she continued, the serious expression that often took up residence on the Healer's face back. "I have to go help out at St. Mungo's. They are planning to relocate some of the younger patients with less serious injuries."

"Oh?" Hermione was interested. "Where?"

"Here," The pursed lips and tightening around the eyes alerted Hermione to the fact that the Healer did not seem impressed by the idea. "They seem to be under the impression – the Head Healers there – that I will have additional help from you. They're desperate, and seeing as you're unwilling to go there, they've decided to bring the patients here."

"But-" She had been struck nearly silent. "I have classes, and I'm still brewing like mad for you. I have Severus to take care of… I'll have schoolwork, and we still do not have a Potions master to teach, meaning we'll have someone fill in and I'll be the one requested to host study sessions…" Hermione blanched in response to the responsibilities she had listed.

"Don't fret, dear." The warm, comforting tones were ones Hermione recognised as ones the Healer used to reassure patients experiencing shock. "It will all work out. I am very thankful for all your help with the brewing, and I admire that you are planning on continuing your education…"

Hermione understood through the finality in Madam Pomfrey's tone that she was suggesting Hermione take her future into her own hands and forget about the needs of the Healer, but that didn't sit well with her. "I can't just leave you here with patients; you'll be swamped!"

Madam Pomfrey nodded reassuringly at her, not pressing the issue. There were deep lines of fatigue on the older woman's face, and Hermione knew that she could never leave Madame Pomfrey alone. Of course, Madam Pomfrey said, "You think on it, there is no pressure. I have to go get ready for the hospital. I should be back earlier than usual, and they're bringing the new patients in early September. Of course we'll have to get the wing looking better, but that's a worry for later."

With that, she marched off to her office, where the fireplace was, and promptly flooed away.

There was something niggling Hermione about what the Healer had said, and realised it a few moments later. Early September. That was when Hogwarts was to begin. She hadn't been lying when she said she wouldn't leave Madam Pomfrey on her own, but she also knew she was correct in her predictions of the school year. She was going to be overworked like no one else.

She felt as though she were in her dream again, trying to dodge the obstacles that fell into her path but knowing with a dreadful certainty that she couldn't hold up much longer.

* * *

Worlds more unhappy than she had been earlier in the day, Hermione took a seat beside the bubbling cauldron. The heat and moisture in the air had made her hair even larger than usual, and she felt a trickle of sweat travel down her neck. She wiped at her brow, disgusted by the dampness there, and – not for the first time – asked herself why on earth she'd agreed to return to Hogwarts.

She remembered the day McGonagall had reached out to her, requesting her help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts. They'd been desperate for power, and had resorted to requesting the aid of their more prominent students in light of the losses that had occurred during the war.

Hermione had agreed. It'd been early June, just after the insanity and grief had begun to take second place to rebuilding the Wizarding World.

The building itself was completely fixed by mid-July – the innate magic of the castle helping the process along, she believed – and it had been discovered that she was good at potions… and that St. Mungo's was desperately in need of them.

There were unfinished things in her life that she had to tend to – her parents, Ron, Harry, her schoolwork, her future – but she had left it all behind for a while, focusing all her energy on brewing, Severus, and helping Madam Pomfrey.

Madam Pomfrey had taken to her after only a day or so, and Hermione had made up her mind to stay until the beginning of the school year, knowing her parents were oblivious to their real past and refusing to deal with the other loose ends of her life. It could all wait until she got things sorted. What things, however, she wasn't sure of.

She tried not to think of the day Severus had been transferred from St. Mungo's, but it was always playing in her mind. Harry had been filled with guilt upon learning that Snape hadn't been as much of a bastard as they'd always thought; reminded of all the pain he had caused the older man. Harry had lost too many good people in the war, starting with his parents, and he hadn't wanted the procession of people who'd died for him to end with yet another who'd had good intentions. Snape.

The look in his eyes when she told him she'd be looking over him as they tried to heal him had been one she'd thought had been lost forever. The smile he had sent her had been dazzling, and she, a kind and well-wishing person in essence, had made it her personal goal to make sure the man recovered. It helped that he was one of the only things she had to worry about, so his recovery was one of the few things she exerted her energy upon.

It also helped that she, herself, had some things she felt she needed to make up for. Stupid things she'd been forced to do at too young an age, things no one should ever be asked to do. After all the suffering, she had to spread her help somewhere. S.P.E.W. simply didn't cut it anymore.

Hermione's eyes fluttered closed for a fraction of a second, but she forced them back open. There was no time for rest; she had to brew.

St. Mungo's continued to plead for her assistance with brewing potions even then, months later. She truly did love the Potions work, but it was getting overwhelming. She was to brew Blood-Replenishing Draught, Calming Potion, Pepper-Up Potion, a modified version of Skele-Gro, and many other specialized concoctions that dealt with blood pressure, heart rate, internal bleeding, swell-reducing, and numbing. There were far too many to count, and though Hermione loved the challenge of focusing on many things at once, she was feeling the strain of so much work.

The timer she had set abruptly rang out, forcing Hermione out of her seat. Three stirs, and then an added eye of newt, and she was finished! The flames under the cauldron were extinguished with her wand and she let out a sigh of deep-rooted relief.

Severus probably would have berated her for thinking her work was over; the product of several long hours (nearly _nine)_ of brewing left her with a good hour's worth of bottling and storing that she had yet to do. Feeling terribly sorry for herself, she set to work on that. She'd made five different potions, each with enough for two hundred doses. However, that wasn't going to last long at St. Mungo's, she knew.

She wasn't quite sure when she'd begun to refer to her Professor Snape as Severus in her mind, she mused as she set into the boring task, though the fact that Madam Pomfrey could never get herself to call him "Professor" (_"He's younger than me," she always said._) might have aided that.

The walk back to the infirmary with boxes of vials that clanked and knocked against each other was uneventful, almost monotonous save for the occasional _clang._ The boxes were levitated behind her, and she had to keep a close eye so that she'd fix the wobbling that started up every so often. The potions were then put into Madam Pomfrey's office for transport to the hospital, and Hermione went into the main wing to check on her star patient.

It had become something like a ritual to take his readings, and Hermione could never get to sleep - no matter how tired she was - before she did so. The same, disappointing assessment was displayed to her. No changes. There never were any, she thought angrily.

Feeling as though her life had been taken into the hands of someone else and then been thoroughly fucked with, Hermione sat in the chair at his bedside once again. The rise and fall of his chest was, thankfully, not the result of any spells. He was very much alive, physically.

Mentally… well, that was a different story. One that was still a little hazy.

As her eyes followed the sharp lines of his face, tracing the hollows at his cheeks and admiring the high cheekbones, Hermione had to wonder when she'd gotten so close to Severus, her Professor. Long months of near-solitude - with Poppy Pomfrey and Severus Snape the only true constants in her life, Hermione supposed it wasn't so unthinkable. When he woke - she was sure he would sooner or later, or couldn't let herself even think of an alternative - she wasn't sure how it would go or if it might be awkward.

Right then, it was all simply a matter of getting to a point where that could be experienced at all.

Hermione had to admit - though she hated it - that she was losing hope. The prospect of him waking up seemed less possible each and every day, though she'd had high expectations to begin with. Exhausted, she didn't wait around for Madam Pomfrey to arrive, and went to her room once again.

Her bed invited and embraced her with warm sheets and a soft pillow under her head. She was asleep within a matter of moments, once again, happy to fall into the mindless darkness.

**-End Chapter 1-**


	2. Surprise Appearance

_By the way, this is my story; it was just uploaded on HPFC Exchange's profile for the exchange I participated in. I hope that clears up any confusion. This is just the story I wrote for that, re-uploaded, with some changes/additions. :D_

**-Chapter 2- Sept 1, Monday**

It didn't feel as though a week had passed, but surely enough, Hermione found herself waking on the first of September, dreading the arrival of the Hogwarts Express and carriages.

The thought of all those people, including the fifteen or so patients who were to arrive from the hospital that same day, made her want to bury her head under her pillow. And stay there.

For all of eternity, maybe.

And she'd still be tired, she reckoned.

All the noise would disrupt the delicate balance and routine that had been Hermione's saviour for two months, and the reminder of how much she'd have to juggle was enough to bring on one of the headaches that had begun coming with some regularity. She groaned as the pressure between her eyes became noticeable. And it was only just the beginning of the day.

She had officially chosen to continue helping Madam Pomfrey around the hospital wing and brewing for St. Mungo's like the masochistic lunatic she certainly was, in addition to taking all of the courses she'd been planning to. NEWTs were still important to her, after all, no matter how brain-dead she felt.

Thinking of it made her stomach churn in a rather unsettling way. But she had never been one to back down from a challenge.

The morning passed quickly, with Madam Pomfrey bustling around the hospital wing in a flurry of anxious energy. Hermione couldn't even go down to meet Ron, Harry, and her friends at the carriages because of the people filing in and the help she had to provide.

There were St. Mungo's Healers with their distinctive, marked robes arriving with patients that varied in terms of serious injuries. Some had terrible curse wounds and scars, and others looked as peaceful and innocently asleep as Severus did.

She recognised some faces as Hogwarts alumni, and even a few that had been a year or more below her, and it broke her heart. They had all been treated to the extent of magical ability, and it was supposedly a matter of time before they woke and recovered. Or so they said. She wished she could believe them, but after working with many Healers, she'd learned what good lies they could come up with to sound reassuring.

As the heat and movement increased in the hospital wing, with different machines and magical boundaries put up to tend to the needs of every patient, Hermione felt the familiar pounding between her eyebrows begin to build even more.

She was almost reduced to taking a nap, but instead downed one of the vials from the dwindling supply of Pepper-Up Potion in the wing, deciding she was needed. She made a mental note to brew some more at the next opportunity.

Good, sweet Merlin. More brewing. She had begun to see, if she admitted it to herself, why Severus had always been so foul-tempered.

Hermione knew the carriages had arrived when she heard one of the many she absolutely loathed, one she hated with a passion. Her hatred was nothing compared to the one she felt for Voldemort, for the other Death Eaters, or other prominent members of the Dark side, but it was one she wasn't in the mood for hearing. Ever.

The whiny, aristocratic, self-assured tones of Draco Malfoy filled the hospital wing around the time she'd expected the students to begin arriving, and within moments, she'd thought of twenty different ways to kill him.

There was an edge of anger (and maybe fear?) to his voice, though he appeared to be making a valiant effort to hide it. She decided to calm down and hear him out. Too much pain had been caused by the war; no need to cause any more, she firmly reminded herself.

"The first news I heard of as I arrived to school was that my godfather was in the infirmary with critical injuries. No one saw fit to inform me earlier?" The indignation in his voice coupled with the slightly frazzled look that encircled him made Hermione less inclined to feel frightened of him, not that she'd ever really been frightened. She'd fairly gotten over that in third year.

Instead, she took a short, searching look at him and concluded he wasn't about to blow them all up. His hair looked thoroughly ruffled, as though he had spent quite some time running nervous fingers through it, and there was a slight, barely noticeable crease right between his eyebrows. Hermione felt for him. She felt rather frazzled herself.

"If I may cut in, Mister Malfoy," said Madam Pomfrey, looking entirely too scattered to possibly manage to intimidate the boy. Hermione watched her. "If I'm not mistaken, you were caught up with your family's… ahem, trials…"

That shut him up and even managed to get a slight flush to redden his cheeks. "I apologise for my reaction, Madam," came his smooth reply, though there was an undercurrent of energy that begged her to finish the conversation. "You can understand that I am feeling quite worried about him."

"Yes, of course dear," she said, turning away, soothing tone in place once more. She looked at Hermione, and when she nodded, the Mediwitch addressed Malfoy once more. "Pass your wand to Miss Granger there, and you'll be escorted to see him."

He nodded politely and turned, trying to mask his shock at Hermione's presence. She scoffed inwardly. As though he hadn't noticed her before, when he'd never had trouble picking her apart in a crowd just to jab at her with insults.

His face didn't scrunch up in disgust as it once would have, but he certainly didn't look happy to see her. It was all a show for Madam Pomfrey, though, and Hermione cut to the chase and scowled.

"Where is he?" His tone was short and obviously meant business, but Hermione, already in a piss-poor mood after the tiring day, gave as good as she got.

"Pass over your wand, Malfoy, and keep your mouth shut. Just do us all a favour."

His raised eyebrow was all the indication she needed to know that he wouldn't take her suggestion. "Why do I have to hand my wand over?"

"It's standard protocol for someone in a magical coma. I can't allow unaccounted-for magic getting into the stabilizing spells we've set around him. It could do a world of harm."

The reaction she got from that was not one she'd been expecting. His face went from sarcastic and teasing to serious in a fraction of a second. "He's in a magical coma?" He appeared barely able to push the question out, voice going quiet.

"Yes." Hermione was not in the mood to elaborate. "Now pass it over." She held her hand out.

Hermione watched with mild surprise as he gave her his wand – one he'd been given by the Ministry as his real wand had been taken in for testing – and nodded at her. "I'm not looking for a fight; I want to see him."

"You are always looking for a fight, Malfoy. Don't – just stop, okay? I'm not…" She threw her arms up in the air. After a moment, "Just follow me and keep quiet," she hissed.

"Some things change, if you just give them time," said Malfoy cryptically. "And some things need to be sorted out before change and progress can be made."

"Shut up," she growled, turning away from his questioning glance. He wasn't going to drop it, though.

"What's got your knickers in a bunch?" He asked, easily falling into step beside her with his long strides. "You look worse than usual, Granger." He also seemed to fall back with a startling amount of ease into his old habits of poking fun at her. Except that it had never been fun. At least not for her. It took one look at him to deduce that he didn't find much glee in the action either.

"You'd do well to mind your own business if you know what's good for you, Malfoy." Hermione said, voice low and dangerous. "Don't make me remind you that I have both our wands."

He raised his arms in mock surrender. "Well," he muttered, "You just did."

She didn't respond. They arrived at Severus' cot in the furthest corner for the entrance to the Hospital Wing, and Malfoy finally fell silent. He sat at the older man's bedside, cocking his head to the right. "Has any progress been made with his condition?" He asked, voice strange.

Hermione shifted into professional mode. "His brain activity and magical levels have been lower than normal but steady."

"So there is some activity in the brain?"

"Well, yes. The parts that are controlling the basic things, helping him breathe and keeping his heart beating, are still functioning at a steady, average rate. The worrying thing is that there should be variations and changes in things like breathing and blood pressure, blood sugar with the food we spell into his stomach… but there are none. We are not using spells to keep him alive, if that's worrying you, we are just using them to monitor him and keep his body temperature at average. He might die if we took them off, but we don't know. Not enough has been found out about his condition."

"Why isn't he awake?" He wasn't wasting any time.

Hermione let out a sigh. "If I knew why Severus was out in a coma, do you think I'd be sitting here taking readings every day? Let me answer that: no. I'd be out looking for a way to bring him back. It's like he's alive, but not really, since he won't wake, even under the controlled environment."

Malfoy blinked. "Severus?"

"Yes. You know, he's the one in the coma, right there?" She pointed at the pale man in exasperation.

He stood abruptly, looking over his shoulder at Severus. "Thank you, Granger." He said, surprising Hermione utterly and completely. "Let me know if his situation changes. I must go. Goodbye."

And with that, he left. Hermione offered him his wand as he pushed past her, and watched his retreating back until he left the hospital wing. Shaken by the curious visit, she forced her limbs to respond and move, pushing the sluggish feeling that wanted to overwhelm her away.

* * *

Despite her best intentions, Hermione found she was struggling as the school year started. Her entire body felt heavy, and yet she continued brewing, helping out, doing homework and all her classes, helping students out, and doing odd errands for the Professors. As though everyone else was busy, she thought uncharitably.

She stared, occasionally, at the other students in her year, watching as they all seemed to get into old routines quickly, settling down into the familiarity of Hogwarts. She wasn't going to call it envy yet, but sometimes she came quite close to it. Everyone was back to normal, and where was she? Working herself half to death.

Granted, Harry was still brooding and looking shaken up, but in the (admittedly little) time she had spent with him since the year had begun, he had seemed better than how he'd been at the beginning of the summer. Back at the Burrow, he hadn't wanted to speak with anyone. That had changed, and she was glad. She also had to acknowledge that the Professors were still trying to tighten up the wards around the castle, to work out schedules with the extra year that had been added to Hogwarts, and to make sure nothing would collapse in on the students. They were busy and stressed. Besides, it was true that she'd taken all the work upon herself.

And she wouldn't bow down to the pressure. Hermione Granger would never do such a thing.

As she went to bed on the first Sunday of the school year, so late that it was technically Monday, Hermione went over the events of the past week. The days had begun to bleed into each other, and her sense of time had gotten so muddled that her meeting with Malfoy could have been just the day before or years earlier.

He had come back the next day, and then on Thursday. He was civil towards her and never said anything out of turn, which was highly unusual, though he sent her strange looks all of the time. It was always when she spoke of Severus, and she assumed he was simply interested in his godfather's condition. If she knew one thing about Malfoy for certain, it was that he valued Severus as an important person in his life.

After all, she wasn't one to question his change of character, and supposed something truly drastic had happened for him to have gone from one extreme – hating her very existence – to not seeming to mind anything. He hadn't even made any bloodline-related jabs at her, very strange.

Of course, Hermione was far too tired to look the gift horse in the mouth, and had decided just to accept his behaviour as the universe compensating for her recent trying lifestyle. Few things managed to keep her from slipping into an apoplectic mood, and she valued that he didn't try to raise her ire.

There had been one occurrence in her week that'd truly frightened her, in which her vision had been spotted with black dots in the middle of History of Magic class. She'd wanted nothing more than to spread out on her desk and sleep. Maybe even just roll over and die, as well, while she was at it.

She'd noticed that she had a hard time focusing on her schoolwork, eyes somehow managing to find a blank spot on the wall to look at. She was often in the library, if not in the infirmary helping out. She was brewing more often than ever, trying to keep up with specific needs now that the year had started up and students came in with strange maladies, as well as the usual St. Mungo's requests.

Hermione knew she needed rest, and so she dropped off as quickly as she could, knowing the next day would bring its usual Pepper-Up Potion with the five-thirty in the morning awakening. Her world was reduced to black as she fell asleep.

…

Hermione woke with a jolt, the alarm she'd set sending a wave of power through her. Hermione's eyes snapped open, though there was little to see in her still-bare room, even after two months and some odd days, or maybe she was counting wrong. It couldn't have been that long.

She staggered out of bed, wondering what day it was and feeling disoriented.

"Bloody hell," she said, taking a page out of Ron's book as the walls wavered and rolled in a nausea-inducing way. She steadied herself and continued on her morning routine.

For some reason, as she brushed her teeth, Draco's comments from their first meeting came back to her, echoing around her head. She was sure she'd gotten them mixed up with her spotty memory, but she remembered what he'd meant. It had been something about waiting for things to sort themselves out, giving things time to change.

Hermione doubted that her predicament would sort itself out anytime soon, especially given that she was sure to collapse and expire at some point in the near future.

She spit out the toothpaste and rinsed her mouth, eyeing herself carefully in the mirror. Frowning at her reflection, she sighed and left the bathroom and, subsequently, the room. It was too early to take readings of Severus, before his first meal, and she wasn't technically assigned to anyone else. Hermione decided against doing some extra work for Madam Pomfrey and left the Hospital Wing.

"Ouch!" Hermione screamed as she stumbled over something on the ground. The corridor was dark, and she hadn't seen the stone. "Stupid castle," she said. "And there goes a perfectly good day."

She made her trek down to the kitchens, as it was too early for there to be food in the Great Hall, and asked one of the House Elves to make her some breakfast. She was the first one to, usually, jump to the imprisoned creatures' aid, but she was in no position to be cooking for herself.

Besides, they appeared to enjoy it and she was too tired to argue. A sign that the world had truly ended, Ron would have joked, had he been there with her. Then again, he would probably have been complaining about being awake so early or making a pass at her… and Hermione pushed it out of her mind. She had no room for superfluous thoughts.

She ate, still grumpy over her less-than-pleasant morning so far, though the food barely registered with her, and got up from the table slowly. Her movements felt as though they were being made in water; each move taking double the effort and triple the willpower to execute.

"Thank you," she called over her shoulder to the Elves. "The food was lovely."

She slipped out of the Kitchens and made her way down some more steps to the dungeon.

To be perfectly honest, Hermione felt as though she were asleep. Her eyes slid closed every few moments, and her movements slowed. The route she took to the Severus' old Potions lab was almost second nature, and she knew she could make the journey asleep, something that would soon be tested if her fatigue continued. The corridors were always darkest this deep in, way underground, but they seemed lighter than usual.

She could almost see ahead of her, as opposed to the usual pitch darkness. It was peculiar, to say the least. Hermione was shaken from her stupor, a true testament to how dark it usually was when the sconces along the corridors weren't lit.

As she blinked, she searched for the source of the light. She turned a corner, and at the end – it was a dead-end with the door to Severus' laboratory closing it off – was a blob of light. It was floating from just above the floor and came up to about her height.

Curious but not reckless, Hermione pulled her wand out and called out. A shield came up around her, a precautionary measure, and she approached slowly.

"Hello? Who are you? Who's there?"

The light got steadily brighter, a clear, pure white. It was almost blinding, and Hermione had to shield her eyes. Her arm kept steady, and her mind was clear. All the training she'd acquired throughout the war flooded back into her, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Something strange was happening, that was for sure – something magical. She'd spent enough time in the Wizarding World to know that.

"Hello?" She called out again, voice loud and clear. It cut through the silence that filled the hallway.

As the light flared, Hermione screwed her eyes shut and wracked her brain for what this could be. The intellectual part of her was highly interested, the self-preserving part of her told her to book it, and finally the tired, sleep-deprived part of her told her that the floor appeared comfortable and that she could fit in a short nap before really starting the day.

As the stubborn Gryffindor she was, she told the weary part of her to go jump off of a cliff, and told the one that advised her to run from the unknown threat to go and fuck itself, she was brave, dammit. A Gryffindor and all that rot. Blah, blah... God, but she was tired.

"Is there anyone there?" Hermione could finally look up ahead of her as the strange light began to fade. Nothing came in response, but the previously shapeless light began to define itself.

It stretched out so that it was not so circular, and then up to a good head taller than her. The shape developed a head, arms, legs, and a torso. It was now translucent, no longer about to burn her retinas. Thankfully. That had been decidedly uncomfortable.

It didn't look substantial, instead looked like it could dissipate into the air if she breathed hard enough, but seeing it made her breathing speed up as though she'd run a marathon.

It turned to her, the face becoming apparent. Slowly, facial features filled in, and Hermione had to pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. Surely she was. Her twisted mind had come up with stranger thoughts and dreams, after all.

Despite the sharp sting of pain she felt, she couldn't be convinced to believe her eyes.

The face staring back at her was her Professor Snape's.

**-End Chapter 2-**


	3. Thinking Hard or Hardly Thinking?

_Obviously, I've a terrible grasp on time and whoops it's the end of December. Well, here's another chapter. This is all prewritten, so I'm banging my head against the wall trying to figure out what's taken me so long. Sorry. _

_Without further ado, the fic..._

**-Chapter 3- Sept 8, Monday**

Hermione's first instinct was to scream bloody murder to call attention to anyone who might be awake and about nearby. Her next idea was to turn tail and run, but the rationality, logic, and curiosity her brain possessed forced her to stay in place. In other words, she froze. Hermione told herself that there was nothing to be worried about, and that he was simply a ghost.

But how could he be if... if he was living and breathing a few stories up, in the hospital wing? She'd been so sure he was stable-

And then the strange apparition began moving towards her. She tried to scramble back, but her legs kept her rooted firmly in place. She opened her mouth and tried to force words out.

"Who are you, what are you, what do you want?" Her mouth dropped the questions out in succession, unwilling to wait for him to get an answer back to her.

"Miss Granger, you're looking more worn-out than usual; that is to say, dreadful. You look as though you haven't seen the sun in years! What has gotten you looking so sallow?" His drone was the same, with the thin mouth turning up at one corner in a smirk. The ghost looked like her Professor, spoke like her Professor, was a pain in the arse like her Professor, even after saying no more than twenty words, but he wasn't.

Severus was upstairs, sleeping, resting, in a coma. He was not here, awake and dead - come back as a ghost.

"Ever so kind of you to say, Professor, but I'd just like to say that it's a bit of the kettle calling the pot black – or, rather, pale," she provided. A moment later, she decided to tell him everything, for if he was like the Professor that _was going to wake_ (_please, please) _soon, he would also be brilliant. He'd see to it that she find the answer, if not by actually telling her, and then by prompting her with questions infused in insults.

That was the way he functioned. She'd managed to get to the root of his actions and vitriolic manner by observing him closely. He insulted and mocked, but most insults were hints in disguise. Of course, sometimes he was nasty and cruel just for the fun of it. That was his charm, she supposed, blushing mentally. Thankfully, that strange period of time in which she'd watched him constantly with an almost too forgiving eye was over, and she could put the information she'd learned to practice _objectively_. "I was, actually, here all summer," she said.

No response, though the raised eyebrow indicated that he was not aware what significance that fact held.

"I helped rebuild Hogwarts, after the final battle." Her calculating eyes took in every nuance of his face, strangely solid-looking in the darkness, despite seeming to be made of light.

"Ah, yes," He looked pensive, entirely too subdued to truly be her Professor, the constantly sardonic, sarcastic, and sometimes cold-hearted, teacher she'd known for seven years. "I trust Potter did what was asked of him successfully?"

"Yes, he did," Hermione fought off the irritation she felt at his detached question. She made an attempt not to roll her eyes as he brought forth his usual tight mask, covering his reactions and feelings with the stiff facial features that told her he was done with feeling. "I'd imagine you would be more invested in this and the results of the war, given that you sacrificed your life to help the cause."

That obviously caught him off guard, and the façade slipped minutely. His eyes widened and his breathing - did ghosts even really need to breathe? – quickened.

"Granger, get to the point, I haven't all day," he said, growling the words out. His eyes had turned stormy, blocking out the more delicate feelings such as regret or guilt that she had hoped she would discern. Truthfully, Hermione was glad that he was reacting this way, as she could get him to answer to some deeper questions or let something out accidentally if he was in an angry mood. People tended to let things slip when they were worked up, it was a fact. And what was Hermione Granger without facts?

"Actually, Professor, you do," she responded. A small smile threatened to make itself known on her lips; he was a ghost - or something like one, at least; he had all the time in the world. "I have a few things I would like to show to you and speak about."

The scowl that took over his face was so familiar and... missed by Hermione that she was breathless for a second. She reached out to him, giddy with some feeling she was not going to examine, narrowly remembering she couldn't touch him in this state. She retracted her hands from the cool air surrounding him, shoving them into her pockets to find her wand.

"Right," he said, annoyed and still scowling. "Go on,"

Hermione hummed in disagreement, shaking her head. "We will go into your lab to speak. There is more privacy and it will give me time to work." Her mood was dampened by the reminder that she had to brew like mad to make up for the lost time, though there were a few positive things she could make of the situation. Such as having a something who looked like her old Potions Professor around to tell her how to speed it all up.

"Very well," He glided into the classroom after she muttered a password, waved her wand, and turned the handle. She pushed open the door, stepping back to let him in first. She stood in faint worry at his reaction to her taking up his personal lab, but hurried along when he turned his sour gaze to her.

Before he could say whatever was on the tip of that sharp tongue of his, he give a cursory glance over his workplace, shooting a look at her afterwards.

"Miss Granger," he asked, unease audible in his voice. "Who has been working in here?" His voice was dangerous, threatening her, should she try to deny him the information.

"I have, Professor," said Hermione easily. It was harder to speak to her true Professor, who might actually be able to do her harm. This apparition that appeared to be little more than shaped air did nothing to intimidate her. If anything, she found the scowl endearing and kind of... cute? Good god, Severus would murder her violently, were he to hear the thought.

Anyway, she wasn't quite sure that was the word for it, but because it looked like a poor imitation of the real Severus' scowl, she found it amusing. It was like a child pretending to be the Professor, or something.

Her searching eyes finally made their way down from his face, and she blushed to see he was only wearing trousers. Just like in the hospital wing, where his shirt and cloak had been taken off in order to make it easier to clean and check on him. How hadn't she noticed earlier?

Hermione blamed it on her fatigue.

Thankfully, he didn't notice the way she ran her tired, obviously delirious eyes over the expanse of pale white skin, marking his wide shoulders, wiry muscles, and the way he appeared to be all sharp lines with no discernible fat anywhere.

Or at least, she had thought he hadn't noticed. When Hermione looked up to where his face was bobbing slowly, she found that his eyes were studying her. Her cheeks reddened once more and she turned away to shove stray strands of hair behind her ear..

"What exactly was that?" He questioned with the air of a toddler who'd just witnessed something never before seen or encountered. Hermione fought the urge to smile indulgently at him, instead pausing to toss a stray strand of her unmanageable hair behind her shoulder after it refused to stay with the rest, behind her ears.

"No time for silly questions, Professor," she said. Her hands fumbled with the ingredients for swell-reducing salve, and she felt her face heat up once again. What was wrong with her? "I have some things to tell you."

"Very well. Get on with it, then." The Professor sat on - floated on top of - a chair that had been left out from beneath a bench, taking a seat. Despite being in the comfortable position, he was still an oppressive figure in the small room. Hermione had to clear her throat before continuing. Though he wasn't human at the moment, with no real power in this world, he could still command the room with some skill.

She was grateful for the tediousness of the task, the way every movement was the same as the last. She got into a bit of a routine of it, and then ventured to lift her gaze to her Professor's. He was watching her hands, having lost interest as she kept quiet. Pushing her observations away and beginning to chop some ingredients, Hermione began speaking.

"Professor." Hermione raised her voice just slightly, catching his attention once more. "I have to ask: what do you think you are?"

His quizzical expression turned to one of derision. He muttered something like, "Dunderheaded and moronic Gryffindor," under his breath. In the next, he spat out, "What does it look like I am, Granger? I am quite obviously a ghost!"

He looked intensely into her eyes, reading something that made him stop short. He cocked his head to the side in a gesture Hermione recognised as one of her own. He wanted her to explain whatever it was that he'd seen in her.

She suspected Legilimency for a second, but discarded the idea for three reasons. He didn't have his wand, ghosts could not normally do magic, and, if he had used magic to read her thoughts, he would not need her to explain. It was only logical.

"That's where you're incorrect," she said, wondering if it was worded strangely, given that he had only said the one thing. "You are actually upstairs in the hospital wing, where you have been for nearly two months… under my care."

"Are you telling me that you are, in fact, a Healer?" The bewildered expression displayed on his features conveyed his disbelief.

"No. I already revealed that I was here to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts, correct?" Hermione revelled in the feeling of teaching something to her Professor. She had always enjoyed being a tutor, helping her students - er, her classmates - understand the theories and everything they learned with the help of carefully worded questions and pointed hints. The ability to withhold information was empowering, and Hermione gave a hint of a smile. She liked this reversal of roles slightly too much.

He nodded in response, prompting her to continue, "As I was here, with nowhere to go – my parents are, er, in Australia and I hate to impose on the Weasleys... I simply stayed. All your teaching over these past few years appears to have paid off; as it was discovered I enjoy brewing and have some skill. Madam Pomfrey began having me help out by brewing potions - medicinal ones - for the patients at St. Mungo's."

"She simply let you brew them? Didn't she understand what might have happened had you performed the task incorrectly?" There was outrage in his voice, though she suspected some of his anger had been mollified by her overt admiration of his potion-brewing skills.

She had complimented him, she realised, without really meaning to. It was the kind of teasing she usually did with Harry and Ron, and was more than surprised to find that she had unknowingly joked with her Professor. What a strange day.

"Of course," Hermione said pointedly, shifting her weight to her other leg. She lit a fire under the heavy cauldron that she lifted up onto the counter with a grunt. Quickly, Hermione added water and waited for it to heat to an appropriate temperature.

"She, as a Mediwitch, has some understanding and skill with potions. She helped me the first few days, watching and making sure I didn't mess anything up. When the work at St. Mungo's increased, she had to work longer hours - as a volunteer, no less!" Hermione herself was a little offended by the insult he'd dealt the Healer, one of her friends. "She asked the head Healer if it was alright that I brew with no supervision. Everyone's mad with a need for help after all the destruction, and after testing a few batches of my potions, they decided it was alright that I brew with no one watching. I suspect my sparkly-clean record helped that, though." That was said as a dig to her Professor's less than trustworthy cover.

He looked thoughtful for a second or two, allowing Hermione the time to place some ingredients into the boiling water. She added just the right amount of one, waiting until the water turned a yellow colour, and then added the next. This was all habit by then, as she'd done it so many times. She didn't realise he was done thinking through what she'd said until he spoke again.

"Stir it twice before letting it simmer," he reminded.

"Of course I will, who do you think I am?" Her outrage came from his interruption. She had been going over the instructions to the potion in her head, and had been just about to stir.

"No need to get snippy, Miss Granger." He was back with that defensive twinge in his speech, and Hermione regretted her outburst.

"Forgive me, Professor. I'm not the most… well-rested of all people, and I have much to do before classes start up."

"Classes?" The confusion was back, and Hermione felt empowered with information once again.

Hermione let out a sharp puff of air, flicking a few stray strands of hair up and out of her face.

"Yes, Professor. It's the eighth of September, Hogwarts re-opened last Monday."

He met her gaze and held it with his steely eyes, sending chills down her spine. Hermione stretched her cramped fingers idly, waiting.

"Yes, Granger, I know." The answer was said with no real emotion behind it, and she suspected he was trying to hide something. She searched his eyes in an attempt to find what, but he had blocked off the source of information from her. How rude. "There is, in fact, a calendar over there," he pointed helpfully, and Hermione followed with her eyes. She knew the calendar he spoke of, changed the date herself every morning, and couldn't believe she'd forgotten about it.

"So why ask?" Hermione turned back around and stretched up to reach an ingredient on a higher shelf, ending with her jumping to reach it. She settled back and began to chop and dice the ingredient, finally looking back at her Professor. He hadn't answered, and she almost thought he'd left, unable to spot him in the dim light for a second.

He hadn't, and was just sitting there with an aghast expression visible on his face. "Did you just... jump to reach an ingredient? In my lab, where everything is precious and there are many unstable ingredients that, if exposed or mixed could end with some dire results? What if you'd knocked something over and killed yourself? Foolish girl," he muttered.

Hermione waved a flippant hand at him, "Professor, it almost sounds as though you care," she said cheekily. "I've done that many times, it's fine."

"Hmm... Back to your question then," he said. His tone was far away and Hermione could hardly focus. This new potion was one she wasn't as familiar with - a new, recently developed version of a curse-scar healing potion. She knew it well, but had to focus on precise amounts. "I didn't expect you to be at school. But yes, I remember you and the _other two_ went hunting last year. It makes sense you would be back, especially _you_, the bookworm."

The comment stung, though not as much as it once would have. Quickly, she moved on.

"Professor, you remember taking the snake poison potion before being bitten, yes?"

He nodded, she saw from the corner of her eye. To clarify, he said, "Yes, I remember that I felt very prepared with it in my pocket. But some spilled as I was drinking it, right before I entered the Shack. The imminent meeting with the Dark Lord might have frayed my nerves a little," he sounded thoughtful again, and Hermione decided she liked this Professor, the one that would speak openly with her. It was faintly worrying, as he would never do that in real life, which made her wonder if this was an elaborate dream she'd thought up.

"Yes," she answered, watching the pieces fall into place. "It didn't work entirely, though you were still alive. We - Harry, Ron, and I - placed stasis spells on you, and we got you to St. Mungo's."

Something twisted in her Professor's face. He opened his mouth to say something, appeared to reconsider saying anything at all, and closed it. He appeared to be thinking hard, losing focus slightly and rolling his eyes up just a bit, examining the ceiling. Hermione took the time to pull out the equipment needed for the next potion she was to brew, rolling her shoulders to rid them of the tension that had built up.

There were some problems with potion making. None of them included the actual brewing. Getting the precise measures was tricky but challenging and therefore fun. She enjoyed adding them and the concentration that was needed to remember the exact order.

The problem was with the simmering portion of brewing. Some potions were quick and needed less than ten minutes to stew before being taken off of the heat to be bottled and stored. Others required exactly 4 days, three hours, two minutes, and one second (one of the potions she had studied over the summer). They were tricky to time and tricky to brew when one had as many responsibilities as Hermione did.

She still found ways to manage, being the resourceful, intelligent girl she was, but she tired easily.

Hermione went to the storage cupboard. She usually had the ingredients she most used at arm's length, but this was one potion that only came up a few times in a month or so. The ingredients were carefully stored, labelled, and sorted. Her Professor followed her in, watching her with careful, guarded eyes. There was cold air circling around him, bringing a chill to the already cold room.

She nearly walked through him - or into him, she wasn't quite sure if he was solid or not and didn't quite want to test that out - and scowled in frustration.

His eyes opened wide and an amused grin played with the corners of his lips. Her scowl amused him.

"Why are you being so normal?" Hermione asked. It hadn't come out very diplomatically and she was sure he wasn't going to look upon her question with much contentment.

"What on earth are you on about?" Her Professor's answer had too little sarcasm and mocking lilt in it to convince her that he was acting as he always did.

"I asked," Hermione was nothing if not stubborn - she'd been told so on numerous occasions by a wide variety of people - and she plowed on. "Why it is that you're not being your usual... y'know, sardonic, sour self."

"I have convinced myself this is a dream, Granger, nothing more. I have nothing to be afraid of here. Besides, you're doing well in convincing me that I should look upon you in good favour. So far, you haven't done anything bad to my room; you show that you've been working tirelessly; you say you've been taking care of my unconscious body; and I haven't seen the boy wonder anywhere. All that accounts for my pleasant mood. If it displeases you, however..." The warning that he could revert to his usual mood was enough to steer her away from that line of conversation.

"I assure you, Professor, that you are quite awake. Well, actually you're not. You are in the real world as a ghost or something - I need to research that sometime soon - and your real body is upstairs. I have placed some security wards on Severus and none have been disturbed. I tested them out after the shock of seeing you. You are very much alive, yet somehow here."

She puzzled over that for a moment, mind churning and working to find an answer as it always did. It seemed to be slower than usual, muggier, in her brain. It was a strange feeling, as usually information found its way quickly to the front of her mind when asked to. She wracked her brain but gave up when she realised it was futile.

"Yes," said the Professor, looking shocked beyond belief for a fraction of a second. In fact, he put the cold mask on so quickly that she thought she'd imagined it. "Fine. I'll agree with you, though I really do think this is not real."

"How can I prove that it is?" Hermione added a sprinkle of fairy eyelashes to the mixture, watching the bubbles emit a strange, fluorescent green vapour.

"You must show me something my brain would never think of on its own." He said, logically. Hermione nodded along. If he believed this was a dream, the only way to prove it wasn't would be to make something he never would have thought of happen. It made perfect sense and she was in complete agreement.

"How?"

"I don't know..." He answered. Then, "If I did, then of course it would be something I _could_ think up."

"Of course," Hermione said, small smile on her face. He was amusing, she found. Perhaps it _was _a dream, she concluded, for she had just called the angriest, most unreliable, biased Professors at Hogwarts amusing.

They sat there in silence for long minutes, Hermione working up a sweat slowly. Professor Snape sat there and observed, throwing in some helpful hints as she went along. It was a bit of a shocker to have help - constructive criticism - come from his lips.

Maybe it was a hallucination brought on by prolonged exposure to potions fumes?

She finished with minutes to spare, sending cleaning spells all around the room. Carefully, Hermione returned the ingredients to their rightful places. With a long, drawn out sigh, Hermione turned back to her Professor.

She hadn't been able to rid him from her mind, as he had always been visible in her peripheral vision. It was embarrassing, having him analyse and watch her every move. The lack of angry noises from his figure had increased her confidence, however, and she was glad for it.

There was only one thing she could think of to say, and that was, "Would you like to come to breakfast, Professor?"

"Oh, we have manners, do we?" He said it with only a small amount of sarcasm in the phrase, and Hermione thought it better than nothing. "I am a ghost – I think - and we can't eat, but I do not appear to have much of a choice."

"What do you mean?"

"Where else will I go?"

Hermione thought for a second, "You can go and scare some of the first years, if it will make you happy..."

He let out a short bark of something that could have been laughter, and Hermione stood shock-still. What had just happened? She almost expected the walls around her to come crashing down, signifying the end of the world. If Severus Snape, apparition, dream, living being, or ghost, had just laughed, surely everything was about to end for them.

They walked down the halls in silence, Hermione still in shock from her Professor's outburst.

They passed some students who had gotten up early, and Hermione expected astonishment at being seen with the Professor beside her. If not shock, at least some sort of reaction.

Instead, all she saw was a happy face or two, waving merrily at her and whispering, "Hello. Good morning, Hermione."

She turned to ask him what on earth that had all been about, but he had disappeared from view. Had he left? She felt something cold grip her arm, and she knew instinctively that it was him.

"Figured out how to do that, have you?" she asked no one, hoping there wasn't anyone passing to hear her speaking with herself.

"Yes, I have." The voice was too close for comfort, spoken straight into her ear. It sent shivers - ones that weren't all that uncomfortable - down her spine.

"Breakfast?" The way he said the word so silkily straight to her made something begin to quake. She wasn't sure what, but it left her feeling shaky the rest of the morning. He stayed invisible through breakfast, making Hermione nervous.

He didn't appear again at all in the time she had classes, though she felt jumpy. What if he was watching her, waiting for things to laugh at later?

Though this new Professor Snape that knew how to laugh and how to sit still without complaining was... nicer than the old one, she wasn't sure if he would take any opportunity presented to him to laugh at her.

Her shakiness was commented upon by a number of people.

In transfiguration, "Miss Granger, do you have something to share?" McGonagall asked.

"No, Professor."

"Do stop wriggling in your seat, dear. It is highly distracting."

She hadn't been able to stop the fidgeting, playing with and subsequently dropping her quill, moving her parchment around, whipping her head to the side at each whisper of movement that might have been her Professor.

"Miss Granger!" The third time McGonagall had called her out, her voice had been strung with anger. "Ten points from Gryffindor for this behaviour! Control yourself!"

As classes ended for the day, the reprimands given to her by her Head of House rang in her head.

In the corridor she caught sight of a head of messy black hair next to a - much taller - boy with very eye-catching red hair.

"Hermione!" Harry called out to her as soon as he confirmed that it was her. "We heard you got yelled at in Transfiguration. What happened?"

Red spots appeared high on her cheekbones. She didn't want to answer, embarrassed that the story was circulating. She wasn't quite in the mood to rehash everything that had gone wrong that day that led up to her strange actions in Transfiguration. If she told them, they'd pester her until she told them about the Professor Snape ghost, and she didn't want to do that.

That would not go over well, she was sure.

"Nothing. And also," she tried to think of something she could say to bring the focus of the conversation away from her. "Where were you two?"

They met eyes, frowning minutely. "'Mione, what are you talking about?"

She waited, and Ron continued, "We invited you to come to Hogsmeade with us a few days ago. You knew we were going. Actually, you never told us if you were going to come, so we were expecting your presence. I must say, you were missed."

She felt even worse then. "I'm sorry, Ron! I have so much going on, I can hardly think." And that was the truth. "How was the trip?"

She remembered, then, when they'd invited her. It had been one of the first nights back at Hogwarts, and Hermione had been looking something up in the library. She remembered that she'd just nodded and waved them off with no thought as to what they'd really been saying. It had been rude of her, to say the least, but she hadn't had the time that night to be wasting any on foolish conversation.

"...so Seamus jumped into the fountain!" Harry's long-winded explanation drew to a close and he turned expectant eyes to Hermione.

She knew she was meant to grin and gush about how funny that had been, though she was not sure what the story had really been about. A wide smile stretched her lips, making her feel intensely uncomfortable, and she let out a giggle.

It was too high-pitched, but she didn't think it mattered. "Did he get in trouble?" She knew she had said it too hurriedly, but she couldn't be bothered to feel bad.

Harry launched back into the story, looking relaxed. She was glad. The summer had done wonders for him, and he'd returned looking well-rested and completely unlike the boy who'd defeated a dark wizard just months earlier. She wanted to pay attention, she really did. However, she couldn't find the energy to really listen.

She caught Ron's narrowed eyes and felt herself grow red again. It had been happening wherever Ron turned that look at her.

After the battle, Ron had asked her to go out on a date with him. They'd set a date, a time, and a place. She'd shown up and they had begun. She had felt the awkwardness and wrongness of the situation within minutes. At the end, she had asked him to remain friends.

The kiss in the battle had been one that had happened in a moment of great duress, it hadn't really meant anything. She knew she had not been sympathetic to his feelings and had even left the Burrow days later to return to help at Hogwarts, but had known he would manage on his own.

She felt a tiny bit of remorse, for he was truly heartbroken for a while - sending her letters of apology and pleading for her to take him back. She had sent him a long - very long - letter, trying to explain. He'd been angry for a while but it had all more or less panned out for the better. She knew that if they'd tried to continue the relationship, she might have been unhappy.

She found that though she and Ron had some kind of chemistry, it all fell to shreds when the argued - which happened quite a bit. She suspected they were better off as friends and now that he had shown some romantic interest, she had to be careful not to send him any incorrect signals, ones he might misread.

He was still reading her expression as Harry, who had fallen a step behind, prattled on. He cocked his head to the side - not in the way she or her Professor did, because he looked clumsy and disproportionate when he did that, not questioning - and silently asked her a question.

It was unclear exactly what he was asking, so Hermione just shrugged.

They arrived to a mass of students, all talking and chattering. Hermione felt herself growing just slightly light-headed, disoriented by the sudden noise and movement. Ron looked alarmed as she wavered, arms shooting out as a safety net, should she fall.

She didn't, steeling her mind and body and powering on. No sense in letting herself fall; she had to eat.

But as Hermione scanned the table, eyes travelling over the multitude of dishes available to choose from, she found that she was not hungry in the least. She should have been, after a long stretch of not eating anything - since breakfast early that morning, she thought - but she wasn't.

"Oi, Hermione," Ron's voice filtered through her thoughts and she turned to look at him. He and Harry both wore matching worried, anxious expressions. "We've been calling your name for ages!"

"Oh, shush, Ron," Said Harry. "Let 'Mione talk."

What were they asking? She had zoned out almost completely, lost in thought. "Er... What did you ask?" She questioned. Hermione observed the supposedly covert glance they shared at that, wondering if she'd said something wrong.

"We asked how you're feeling," said Ron after the short episode that had seemed like a lifetime. Hermione blinked, noticing how inviting it appeared to simply keep her eyes closed... She could just... Drift off.

"Mione!" Harry shook her and Hermione started.

"Sorry," she apologised meekly, looking down at the table in embarrassment.

"Hermione, have you been sleeping at all?" Ron was looking at her with newfound scrutiny and Hermione tried not to squirm. "You look dreadful!"

She was brought back to her Professor's comment from earlier in the day; he'd said the same thing. Did she really look that bad? She hadn't thought so when she'd looked into the mirror that morning. Besides, school had only just begun; she couldn't have fallen that far behind in sleep already.

"Yeah," added Harry. "You've got terrible bags under your eyes and you're all pale. How long has it been since you went outside and saw the sunlight, breathed in the fresh air?"

Hermione tried to think back but it was so far back that she couldn't place the date. "It was recently," she lied. "I ran a few errands for Madam Pomfrey and bought some potions ingredients."

"Well," said Ron. "You still need to get out more. You could use a bit of colour."

The comment sounded so much like one Hermione's mother would say that a memory of the woman was wrenched to the forefront of her mind. She felt dreadful - just as bad as everyone said she looked - having left them in Australia, despite knowing that they were happy and had no recollection of her. She planned to go one day and reverse the damage she'd done, but that day was not one in the near future. She simply had no time for that. "Thank you ever so," she said sarcastically. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have about a mountain-tall pile of work that needs to be done, potions to be checked on, a patient to see to, and a few things I'd like to discuss with Madam Pomfrey. Goodbye, Harry. Ron,"

"But Hermione-"

She had already gotten up and was out of earshot.

"We just got here; you haven't eaten anything." Ron's confusion never fell upon Hermione's ears and he sat back, confused.

"Harry," he said.

The boy had begun to fill his plate with food and paused with some meat dangling in the air. "Yeah?"

"Is it just me or has Hermione been crankier than usual?"

Harry dismissed the notion with a shrug of his shoulders. "You know 'Mione, she's got her moments. I say we let her work through it, show her we trust her, and then see what happens. We can keep an eye on her if it means so much to you, however."

But Ron wasn't about to let it go so easily. "No, Harry. I don't think she's gone into one of her moods. We're missing something big about her life right now, something that is completely ruining her usual... Organization. She hasn't been spending any time with us, her friends! And she hasn't colour-coded anything since the school year began. Something's wrong."

Harry didn't seem perturbed. "It'll pass, you'll see."

Ron wasn't convinced, but tucked into his hearty dinner with no further arguments.

~)~(~)~(~

Hermione had not had a good day. First, she had received the shock of her life at seeing the ghost of her _living _Professor - she had to put aside some time to research that, she reminded herself - and then she had brewed a fair number of potions. That had been followed by a stressful day of classes during which she'd been reprimanded for fidgeting a number of times, even going so far to lose house points.

She'd blown Harry and Ron off unintentionally, stormed out of dinner without eating anything, and she still had too many things to do.

Hermione dropped herself into a seat at the library, calmed by the quiet that she found. It was a stark contrast to the noise and bustle of the Great Hall and she found she liked it a great deal more. It was a double-edged sword, though, the silence. Soon enough, Hermione could be found nodding off into her Charms textbook, quill next to her nose, still gripped in her hand, and ink smeared all over her cheek.

No one was there to see her, or so it seemed. Every student but Hermione was in the Great Hall, eating and chattering with friends and Professors and ghosts were usually not to be found in the study area of the library.

Despite those circumstances and the very low chance that anyone would be there to witness her lack of control, she was roused by an icy cold hand that gripped her arm. Her inkwell dropped to the floor, breaking apart and leaving a dark stain on the thin carpet. She whirled around, ready to verbally cut apart the person who'd dared to wake and disturb her, but was faced with nothing.

Something sparked in her brain, though she was still to groggy from the short sleep to put it all together.

With a sigh, Professor Snape materialised from the air. "Miss Granger, get your nose out of that book - literally - and start working." His stern voice forced the fog that was hovering over her mind out – through her ears, perhaps – and she shook herself once to focus.

"What do you want," she said. Then, at his warning glance, "Professor?"

"I encourage you to take this time to study, for I believe – if memory serves – that sleeping in one's own bed is far more comfortable."

"Yes, well," Hermione had no response. "I fell asleep accidentally. I was working hard, I promis-" Her eyes took a hasty glance at the books open in front of her, noting that nothing had been written. She looked up at the grandfather clock that was ticking on the wall, shocked to see that she had wasted nearly an hour and a half.

He met her now-panicked gaze with a smirk. "You see, Granger, get to work."

"Oh my," she began rambling. "I have to finish this, and the potions will lose potency if I don't go and- I should check on Severus, upstairs. Madam Pomfrey will go mad if I don't go to help her and let her take a short break…"

Once again, her Professor took on a look of shock for a short, fleeting moment. He guarded his features and then asked, "Who should you check on?"

Hermione looked questioningly at him but answered offhandedly, "Severus. He's upstairs and I've had very little time to check on him today. I went right after breakfast but not again."

She turned her back to him, beginning to scan the pages of her textbook quickly. Professor Snape allowed her to jot down a few notes, waiting until she finished with the chapter.

"I apologise, Professor. I must finish this," her distractedness was evident in her tone and her Professor floated over to sit in a secluded corner. She watched him move and a blush rose to her cheeks, "You don't have to wait for me!"

He shrugged, "I will wake you if you begin to nod off again," he assured her, helpful enthusiasm permeating his voice and shocking – scaring, a bit - Hermione.

She was too tired to protest, though she found herself writing the word 'Professor' and the name 'Severus' a few times in the margins. She had to spell the words away, mentally chastising herself for the slips of control. What was wrong with her; why couldn't she concentrate on the present?

Less than an hour passed with no mishaps, and Hermione shot up from her seat with a look to the corner where her Professor had concealed himself. "Professor," she said. "Come on!"

She felt the icy touch of his fingers on her arm once again, shivering at the contact. She saw why he hadn't revealed himself; the students had begun to trickle in, now that dinner was over.

Loaded down with textbooks, Hermione made the customary trip to the hospital wing.

Before pushing the doors open, Hermione turned around. She glanced around the corridor, noting there was no one there, and said, "I trust you've been in here already to see yourself?"

He appeared, nodding. "Yes," was all he answered.

She pushed the doors open, eyes watching over her shoulder as he melted back into nothing. She made her way over to the secluded bed where Severus lay, pushing back the curtains surrounding the area to access him. Hermione stopped short at the sight of a head of platinum blond hair.

"Malfoy," she said, acknowledging his presence.

"Granger," he answered, inclining his head to her, not removing his gaze from Severus. Hermione felt the icy touch of her Professor, wondering if he would reveal himself to Malfoy. Nothing happened, and Hermione proceeded to take the basic readings, waving her wand over Severus' body. She was aware that a few steps behind her stood the ghost of that particular man, feeling a strange sense of déja vu.

The tests revealed nothing different and she shook her head at Malfoy. He deflated a bit, sinking back into his chair. Hermione left him alone, wondering what on earth was going through the minds of her Professor and Malfoy.

Soon enough, after not feeling the gust of cold air that told her that her Professor was in close quarters for a few minutes, Hermione forgot that he was even there.

She went around, taking readings of all the other patients of the infirmary, trying to do everything she could for Madam Pomfrey who still had to go through with things at St. Mungo's and was often not available at the hospital wing after classes ended every day.

Finally, after leaving the notes she had taken about the patients in Madam Pomfrey's office, Hermione left.

She walked to the lab, down some stairs and around some corners, turning the handle of the familiar door. She observed the potions she had left to simmer that morning, nodding approvingly at them. She bottled the few that were ready, continued brewing the few that weren't, and began to brew some that would need to sit overnight.

By the time she was back in her room, it was past eleven and she still had some more schoolwork to finish. She couldn't even bear to think that the next day she'd have to do it all over again

**-End Chapter 3-**


	4. Ghost and Planner

_Since I'm bad at keeping promises, I'm going to upload the last three chapters nand to finish with this. I feel terrible for disappearing for months at a time. _

**-Begin Chapter 4- September 10**

There was a whisper of ghostly air that ran up Hermione's spine. She felt a shiver travel down it in response, and whirled around to catch the culprit. There was no one there upon first glance, and she felt she knew the answer, instinctively. Fairly sure in her conclusion, she called out, "Professor?"

There was a curse, soft and barely-heard by Hermione, and he began to materialize. "Hello, Miss Granger."

"Where have you been, Professor Snape?" She asked, turning down an empty and rarely-used corridor to escape the students that would surely be making their ways to the Great Hall for dinner, as she had been.

"I have honoured your suggestion," he said. At her confused expression, he elaborated. "I went and tormented some first years, Miss Granger, if I must spell it out."

She smiled at that, though she felt uncomfortable and slightly dizzy.

"And how did that go," she prompted, catching the pent-up frustration that was all but rolling off of him in waves.

He narrowed his eyes at her but answered through pursed lips. "Not well,"

She couldn't help herself, "What does that mean, Professor?"

His expression turned even sourer, if that was even possible. "Miner-Professor McGonagall thought it was Peeves, shouted at him, and then he tried to find me." The sentence was said with his mouth turned down and a disgusted look upon his face, as though that were the most degrading thing that could have happened to him.

Hermione took a chance, reminding herself that he was a ghost, and said, "Ah, I see. You sought me out to save you, poor icklePwofessor,"

The glare he fixed her with was as piercing and menacing as always, but it had little effect on Hermione. Upon realising that, her Professor crossed his arms and floated away.

"Oh, Professor!" She called, remorseful that she'd teased him. "Don't leave; I was only teasing."

"I resent saying that you were… partially correct." He said, once he had – reluctantly – moved back to her side.

Hermione felt interested at that, and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Oh?" She asked.

"Peeves came looking for me, but I couldn't let him catch me – he'd tell the Headmistress that I was a ghost and… that would not go over well, I should think – I escaped his clutches but I think he is still watching out. How can I hide from him?"

Hermione was stunned to silence for a moment or two, and when she finally regained control of her vocal cords, she exclaimed, "You're asking me to aid you?" Then, "Really?"

"Don't sound so surprised-"

"How could I not," Hermione had to forcibly remind herself that she was not meant to speak in such a high octave. "If you've been dreadful to me all of my time at Hogwarts; constantly finding ways to hurt me verbally. Not to mention my friends, my house, and all the times you slighted me simply because none of your little… Death Nibblers could match me!"

"Breathe, Miss Granger. If you must know, a lot of that was simply to retain my image as a Death Eater. It may not have been the most… intelligent decision in the first place,"

Hermione snorted, "You could say that,"

He scowled at her interruption. "As I said, it wasn't the safest, but it was successful, and played a major part in the war."

"Hmm…" said Hermione, shrugging nonchalantly. "Until Voldemort found out and all but killed you, of course. Go hide in a broom cupboard somewhere, maybe."

She turned down a small corridor and all but ran to the entrance to the Great Hall, visible a ways down.

Hermione ate near Harry and Ron, sitting physically next to them, but her mind was far away. Her thoughts were occupied by the image of her Professor lying there, bleeding out, and giving Harry the memory…

She wasn't quite sure why, but the conversation she'd had with him had shaken her, and she ate in silence.

**-Sept 12-**

The next Friday was when Hermione encountered her Professor next, and he looked paler than should have been possible.

"What?" She asked, as eloquently as she could in her semi-asleep state.

He shook his head firmly, lips squeezed together until they were little more than lines on his face.

"If it suits you," she shrugged, turning back to the potion she was brewing. It was late, and she had no time to waste.

"… I was floating about the Slytherin Boys' dormitories," he began.

Hermione burst into laughter, "I've heard stories from Lavender, who heard from a few other girls in her web of gossipers, about what goes on in there. What did you see?"

He shook his head again, closing his eyes. Hermione supposed it was for dramatic effect, but kept quiet. If Lavender's stories were anything to go by, which they occasionally were, her Professor could have witnessed anything from a resurrection of Voldemort's dead body to a full-blown orgy…

Honestly, Hermione put little faith into Lavender's insane babble, but anything was possible.

"Will you stay to help me brew?" Hermione asked, getting uncomfortable and knowing she was cutting it close in terms of how long she was sleeping those days. "You could read out the instructions for me."

She wasn't quite sure what to expect, but no scenario she could have thought up included him agreeing to stay. But, lo and behold, he floated around to the open Potions book and asked how he could help.

She found that working with him was calming – his voice was so smooth and silky, it was hardly imaginable – and felt much more efficient when she wasn't frantically looking through the pages to locate where she'd left off.

**-Sept 14-**

Sundays were the bane of Hermione's existence, and she groaned on about them in the library.

"Why did I put myself up to so many things, when I have so little time," she moaned, head buried in a book she was meant to be reading.

"I suggest you take what little time you have to be productive, instead of griping about it all," came her Professor's suggestion.

Eyes half-closed and mind in a haze, she said, "Fuck you; do my work for me if you think it's so easy."

Silence greeted her, and the mortification that came with saying such a thing to her professor was enough to rouse her from her daze.

Cheeks aflame, she had the decency to mutter, "I apologise, Professor. That was out of line."

Much to her surprise, he was sporting a small, well-hidden-but-not-to-her-attentive-gaze expression of amusement. He said nothing more than, "Get to work, Miss Granger."

**-Sept 16-**

"How can I keep track of all these things?" Hermione shouted at nothing – or so it looked to any passer-by. In fact, her Professor was well within earshot, standing directly beside her.

He had to whisper, in order not to be heard by a curious student or Professor, so he kept his position. Of course, it was a challenge to dodge her flailing arms.

"Miss Granger," he said. "Relax."

"Relax? Relax! How can you tell me to relax?"

"Easily… Relax."

She burst into giggles at that, the nervousness and stress she felt pouring into the sounds so that they were verging on hysterical.

**-Sept 18-**

"Can I come in?" He asked.

Hermione gulped, but couldn't find any reason to deny him. "Of course, Professor"

And so she opened the door for an invisible ghost-like thing that might only be a figment of her imagination, for all she knew, and stepped in behind him. For the first time, she realized just how plain her room was, and felt a wave of embarrassment flood through her. But then, why should she care if her Professor liked her room or not?

"Miss Granger… your decorating style and skills would, if you won't be too offended, rival mine."

She gaped at him, and then caught the teasing smile that was hiding around the corners of his lips, grinning back at him.

**-Sept 22-**

Monday came quickly, bringing with it another pile of schoolwork that Hermione was trying her hardest to finish.

"What do I have to finish for tomorrow, Professor?"

She'd found that he often stuck around during lessons – though which ones, if not all, she couldn't discern – and was a valuable tool in remembering things.

The sour look on his face – one she'd, surprisingly enough, gotten used to – was the first to appear from the air, materializing just behind her.

"What am I, Miss Granger? Your agenda, calendar… planner?"

She didn't let him continue, though his mouth was open as though he could carry the sentence on longer. "Why yes, Professor. How on earth did you guess? So tell me, planner, what do I have to work on?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, sneering nastily. However, to her delight, he listed off the assignments she needed to focus on for the next day will little difficulty.

**-Sept 25-**

Friday was like a breath of fresh air for a drowning Hermione. For the first time in a few days, she wasn't swamped with responsibilities at the hospital wing, and she finished her schoolwork in record time, hoping for a weekend to relax.

In fact, talking with her Professor was like a breath of fresh air, because he seemed to know exactly how to motivate her. Granted, his methods sometimes stung and were slightly offensive, but Hermione knew that was just his normal disposition; biting and sometimes cold. She, for whatever reason, felt the need to prove herself to him, maybe to disprove what he'd always believed of her, or maybe just because Hermione was a competitive being. Nonetheless, her work was finished, wrapped up with a bow on top, ready to be handed in come Monday.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Hermione could sit and relax, maybe hit the sack a few hours earlier than usual, as well.

And if she wanted to spend that free time with a Professor who'd grown on her like some sort of fungus, so be it.

**-End Chapter 4-**


	5. Confrontations

**-Begin Chapter 5- Oct 9 (Thursday)**

The day was icy but Hermione hardly noticed it. Her hands were stuffed into her pockets and she pushed her way through the gusts of wind that threatened to push her down.

Why did she have to have Herbology so early, when it was still freezing outside from the gradually colder nights?

Wait. Hermione stopped in her tracks, stooping over so as not to be pushed down. She tried to conclude what day it was in her head but couldn't. Looking around for the first time, it dawned on her that she never had Herbology first thing in the morning. There was no one else out and about, trying to walk down to the greenhouses.

Feeling foolish, Hermione walked back to the castle.

The day passed quickly with Hermione feeling almost dreamlike all day. She had caught some of the Professors sending her questioning, worried looks and felt terrible that she was letting them down. Her work was as good as it had ever been, but her responsiveness and the eagerness with which she had always acted in class was gone. She could hardly keep her head up in her classes and sometimes lost focus. Harry and Ron had to nudge her awake every few moments to keep her from falling asleep.

According to Professor McGonagall, her marks of Outstanding and Exceeds Expectations (in Herbology and History of Magic, respectively) could be lowered to Exceeds Expectations and Acceptable for her waning class participation.

That wouldn't affect her NEWTs marks, but she was determined not to allow her internal assessment grades to lower any further, and Hermione promised herself that she'd push and push until she brought the marks up again.

She walked to the library in a daze, burrowing into the section she had begun occupying in the past weeks. For the first time that day, she truly forced herself awake, blinking hard and cracking her knuckles in anticipation. Hermione browsed through the stacks of books. There were many on ghosts and the research that had been done on them, but Hermione had yet to find a reference to a ghost appearing when the person was still alive – as was the case with Severus and her Professor.

She had been spending her time there, in the library, more than anywhere else. She hardly slept and was constantly being warned by Madam Pomfrey that the mixture of Pepper-Up potion and coffee she took every day was not healthy, but Hermione was on a mission. She was as stubborn as the worst of them – including her Professor – and was determined to see herself through to the holidays. The work at the hospital wing hadn't let up, and her responsibilities around school had not diminished one iota, but she pressed on and gave herself the extra studying as well.

Hermione idly flipped through a semi-promising book, reading up about spirits and ghosts. Nothing described what her Professor was.

She had noticed in their few arguments – about intellectual topics, nothing serious – that he began to glow a more noticeable white when he was feeling a particularly strong emotion. It had once gotten almost as bad as that first encounter, and sometimes he flashed a nearly blinding white colour when something deeply angered him.

She tried to keep him calm if only for her eyes' sake, but it was hard. He was unpredictable and hard to manage. For a ghost, he enjoyed meddling with things and she had found him snooping around her personal belongings – her bag in the library, when it opened and spilled its contents, her room on the three occasions she'd allowed him to enter, her schoolwork when it was left open on a table.

So far, no one but Hermione knew of the Professor Snape ghost, not even Malfoy. Something warmed inside of her that he had only chosen to show himself to her, for certainly Professor McGonagall would be better suited to deal with the situation than a sleep-deprived teenager.

It showed he had some trust placed in her, no matter if she thought it slightly foolish and misplaced, and Hermione liked that confidence he had of her.

Madam Pomfrey would be another good choice, for her expertise in Healing, and Malfoy simply because he continued to sit at Severus' bedside occasionally, showing some worry on his behalf.

An icy gust of air alerted her to the arrival of her Professor, and Hermione sat up straighter. She didn't know quite why she was always so anxious when he found her in this section of the library, though she suspected it was because she feared what his reaction would be if he knew she was spending such time looking up his problem, now that he seemed to gather how tired she was.

Recently he had begun to look as worried as the other Professors when she stumbled or felt faint. He had been dubbed her "planner" because more often than not, he knew of her plans before she did, and remembered when she forgot. Her Professor had needed to remind her of several important dates as of late, and she found it both worrying (she couldn't remember for herself, something scary) and warming (he saw fit to remind her).

"Granger, focus," His stern voice originated somewhere beside her and Hermione felt her cheeks redden inexplicably. The book was useless and she snapped it shut. Looking around, she quickly spotted her Professor.

Rubbing at her temples, Hermione asked, "What have you been doing, Professor?"

He shrugged, "This and that," His deliberately abstract answer informed her that he was not in the mood to discuss whatever he'd been doing. It was further proven as he changed the subject.

"How are things at the hospital wing?"

Hermione looked at him sideways, searching for a new book. She picked one up and blew the dust off, settling down to skim through. "Madam Pomfrey is finally being allowed to return to Hogwarts full-time. She's ecstatic and I think it will improve things there in the wing."

"Will you lose some of the responsibilities you have there?" Her Professor's tone was edged with worry – could it be? – andinterest. Hermione chose not to comment on it.

"Yes," she answered, cracking the book open. The spine made a noise as it opened, a testament to how long it had been since anyone had read it. "She says that I will now only be in charge of Severus' – er, your – body. I am still going to help out with the potions for St. Mungo's, though,"

No response came and Hermione, who was by then used to her Professor's bouts of silence, began to read through the book.

_Ghosts are not the souls of those passed, they are spirits._

The line stuck with her and she turned to look at her Professor speculatively. He was still looking off into space, and she knew not to interrupt him. She scribbled it down on a spare sheet of parchment, noting it for further research.

Hermione continued reading, but it was then only with half a mind. She was daydreaming, not really absorbing that which she read. Her thoughts filled with the images of Severus' awakening. She saw the crooked smile she'd been privy to through the ghost version of him light up his features, felt his arms encircle her, his lips brush her ear as he whispered his thanks…

"Why do you call him Severus when he is me?"

The question jolted her out of the dream and she stuttered. What kind of thoughts had those been? "Er… What?" Her oh-so eloquent response elicited an eye-roll from her Professor.

He crossed his arms over his bare chest – Hermione had to push her mind's fantasies (was that what they were?) out of her thoughts to stay in the present – and assumed an irritated expression. "Whenever you refer to the me that is in the hospital wing," he said slowly, mocking her, "You call me Severus. However, referring to me," at that, he pointed at his translucent figure, "You say Professor."

Hermione struggled to catch on to what he was saying, "Would you like me to call you Severus?"

He looked even more cross at that, and Hermione wondered what she'd said wrong. "No, Miss Granger, I would not. I would, however, like to know why you find such familiarity in my unconscious figure!"

She was taken aback by the venom in his voice, mentally taking a few steps back. It was almost as if he'd read the thoughts she had been thinking moments earlier but she knew it was merely coincidence. She hated it when he went back to the way things had been before this strange occurrence, acted like he hated her.

Then she realised what he was insinuating.

"Are you accusing me of doing… untoward," at that she had to blush, "Things to you?" Hermione was offended, deeply so, and found her tiredness recede as her anger surfaced.

"I don't know, Miss Granger. Did you?"

Alarm bells rang off in her head, warning her that she was in the library and that anyone could hear, but she was too far into her own anger to pay any attention to rationality, despite her usual inclination to factual evidence. "How dare you? I have been taking care of your sorry arse for nearly four months. I have sacrificed my sleep, my time, my energy, and my marks to continue to do so! I have spent time researching and reading about your condition to see if there is a cure, put up with Draco Malfoy in the hospital wing, blown off Ron and Harry countless times… all for you! How dare you question my integrity as your healer? How dare you? I thought you and I had become something like friends, working to heal you. I obviously thought wrong!"

And with that, Hermione pushed the book she had been reading off of her lap in anger, picked her book bag up, and stormed out.

To hell with all the work she had done, all the hours she had lost, and all the energy she had wasted. Severus Snape was not getting another fucking second of her precious time.

By the time she was at Gryffindor tower, Hermione had blown off all of her steam and was in a terrible mood. She had let her Professor with his suspicious attitude and penchant for dramatic mood swings catch her off guard. To be fair to herself, she wasn't in the best state of mind to put up with difficult people.

She had too much work to really focus on making others happy, and had little or no tolerance for everyone's antics.

But already, Hermione felt bad. She hadn't let her Professor explain or speak up for himself and had just blown up at him. Despite the horrible accusation he'd dealt her, she had not had any right to yell at him. Hermione stared up at the Fat Lady, guilt rolling off of her in waves.

"Password, dear?" Came the question, tone oblivious and far too jovial for Hermione's mood.

Hermione froze, trying to think. Moments passed and her frustration grew and grew exponentially. What was the password? She wracked her considerable brains for anything that could give her a clue but there was nothing. She couldn't even think of the last password. Her mind had failed her once again.

Bursting into tears, Hermione shouted, "I don't know! What's wrong with me; I don't know!"

Sobs tore their way through her, making Hermione wonder if she was sane. Maybe she had developed some rare mental illness that made her act so irrationally. Maybe her Professor's delicate, easily irritated, moods had rubbed off on her.

Why was she even crying? She could simply wait for the next person and ask them for the password.

But still she wept, tears making her overworked eyes burn. Slumping against the wall, Hermione wished she hadn't been quite so rude to her Professor. He might not have been the most agreeable person to work with, but she had found that he was good at keeping her awake and grounded.

The past month had been enjoyable, something she would have thought impossible. They had some jokes that they had shared, and Hermione could look back at many moments they had shared with warmth.

Besides, without him she was liable to go off and explode for no reason just as she was doing then, as well as forget all of her promises to various people. She sat there, slowly quieting, and sniffled.

"Granger?"

Her head whipped up at lightning speed at the sound of that voice. The hallway was empty, or appeared to be so, though she knew it wasn't.

The Fat Lady made a sound of shock, turning questioning eyes to Hermione, "What was that?" She asked.

Hermione shrugged, trying to keep her hysterical laughter from bubbling over.

"I see. Well, Miss Granger," she said, still looking suspicious. "Maybe, if you keep trying, you'll think of it."

Hermione nodded, not quite paying attention. She stood up quickly and ran down the hallway. A cold grip pulled her into a secondary corridor, one hardly used.

"I apologise, Miss Granger," said the silky smooth voice. He was hovering right there behind her, one freezing hand gripping her arm in front of her. Essentially, he was hugging her from behind. "I should not have responded in such a way. You are trustworthy and have gained my respect this past month. You take on so much responsibility because you are genuinely a good person. Now, stop your blubbering."

He said the words so solemnly that Hermione was rooted to the spot, despite the slight insult.

"You are… competent in Potions and are a pleasure to be around. I find your work ethic refreshing compared to those of your classmates." She heard a faint sneer in that and muffled a giggle. "I find it shocking that you, such a good person, could find any reason to save me."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" Her voice sounded shaky and unsure compared to his neat tones. She remembered the tears and felt some embarrassment.

He released his grip on her, apparently confident she would not run screaming – or crying – from him, and let her turn around. Appearing slowly, he looked her right in the eyes.

"You have given up so much – as explained in your… rather poorly-timed burst of shouting – and most of the things you do are to help me. I have never done anything for you; why would you want to save me? You could do so much more, yet you continue to want to care for me. I cannot figure out why and it baffles me, really."

Hermione shook her head, nearly trembling with tears again. "Professor, I could never let you die. Even though you hated me, yelled at me, nit-picked at everything I did, and insulted my intelligence and appearance, I never hated you. Even if I did, I would still do everything in my power to heal you. Too many have been lost in this war. I do not need to be the reason for another one."

He floated back a meter or two, gazing at her coolly. No longer making any contact with her, Hermione felt colder than when he had been. "Am I a pet project of yours; your attempt to atone for everything that you did in the war?"

Hermione grew desperate, willing him to understand, "No! Professor, I need you to live. I don't know what I would do if I found that you were dead. There's something about you that makes me want to keep trying and keep putting in effort. You know what? I enjoy conversation with you so much more than with Harry and Ron."

"Of course you do, they're morons," said her Professor under his breath.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You are interesting, an enigma, a variable I have yet to solve for. I don't understand you, you interest me, and I have very strong feelings about letting you die. I would never experience another conversation with you, work with you, or learn from you. You are important to me and refuse to leave you to die!" Her eyes sparkled with more tears and she saw his frightened look.

"Please – Don't cry, Miss Granger."

Hermione did as she was asked, always ready to do anything to make him happy. She wanted his approval, she found, and wasn't sure what it meant.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I lost myself for a bit." She gave one last sniffle and wiped her tears away. "Forgive my loss of control. I don't think my current sleep schedule is quite appropriate for me and my brain is sometimes a bit… wonky as a result." She didn't want him to think her weak and tried to explain her tense mood away.

He looked worried again, "How long did you sleep last night?" He asked.

Hermione looked sheepish. "I think I slept for three or four hours…"

Her Professor's expression changed into one that she had never seen before and the air around him crackled. Hermione took an instinctual step back and watched as he glowed a bright white. She had to shield her eyes from the light and waited for it to fade.

When the light began to leach away, he asked, "And the night before?" The question was barely audible over the rushing in her ears.

"Less than last night is all I know. I think five hours is the longest I've slept this week…"

The light was back with a new intensity that Hermione could see even though her eyes were screwed shut. The light was still bright as he disappeared down the corridor, leaving Hermione feeling very confused.

She was used to his quirks by then, though he had never left in the middle of his emotional moments, and shrugged it off. She didn't even give a second thought to what might have brought the particular episode on.

Hermione walked towards the hospital wing, eyes on the ground. She heard her name being called and looked up, feeling drained and tired. She hoped her eyes weren't red.

Harry waved at her and she raised a hand to wave back. Ron, beside him, smiled in greeting.

"Hey, Hermione," greeted Harry.

"Hullo, 'Mione," said Ron.

Hermione smiled and nodded, "Hello," she said.

"You're headed to the hospital wing?" asked Ron.

She nodded again, "Yes, I need to check on some patients and then I must get down to dinner. I'm starved!"

Ron nodded in full understanding, "We just passed by to see where you were; you've been missing since the end of classes. We'd hoped you were already down there, eating, but I see that was wishful thinking!"

She laughed at his teasing and the slight jibe to her irregular eating habits as of late. "Yes, well, I must be going. I'll be down soon!"

Something about what she said made Ron stop short. Hermione turned around and cocked her head in question. "Hermione," said Ron. "Last time you said that, we didn't see you until the next morning. See to it that you really do come down."

Even Harry, who usually didn't appear troubled by Hermione's spotty appearances at meal times, looked at her beseechingly, also. "Yeah, Hermione. We haven't properly seen you for ages! You've always got this thing or that thing to do…"

Hermione shrugged apologetically, "I'm sorry, I have a lot on my plate. I have priorities, and-"

"We're not high on that list," Ron appeared unhappy.

Hermione tried to think if it was "be mean to Hermione day", because after the confrontation with her Professor she was not in the mood to fight. She felt her emotions were frayed and she couldn't handle it.

She tried to smooth it over, "Of course you are," she said.

"Then why don't you ever spend time with us? You've turned down so many of our invitations to play chess or talk in the common room, you never come down to Hogsmeade on the weekends, and you don't even eat with us!"

Hermione grew snappy, "The world doesn't revolve around you, Ronald!" She said. "There are hundreds of people I've helped with the potions I brew and the things I do to help Madam Pomfrey. I have to do well on my schoolwork so that I can finish with Hogwarts and do bigger things."

Ron was quick to anger as well, "Why does it seem that Snape is higher on your list of 'priorities' than we are? The world doesn't revolve around him, either!"

"Because he doesn't complain about all the things I do with my time instead of spending my days with him!"

Harry pulled Ron back, though they both looked at her curiously. "Of course he doesn't," said Ron venomously. "He's unconscious - Maybe dead!"

Hermione turned around at that, unwilling to continue with the conversation. His words had felt like a slap, his mocking of all her hard work like a blade dug into her side… then twisted.

The hospital wing was quiet as she entered the silence making her ears buzz after the yelling.

He was there again, Malfoy. Though he wasn't particularly acidic or insulting towards her, not once having stooped to childish name-calling and derogatory slurs, she found his presence grating.

Perhaps it was because when he was around, her Professor refused to appear and she couldn't have a decent conversation. It might have even been simply that Draco, as a person, didn't sit well with her. Sitting over his comatose godfather, Hermione expected him to appear pensive or mournful. Instead, he was the picture of forced calm, all straightened shoulders and clasped hands on his lap. He sat for hours sometimes, just staring at his godfather.

He cocked his head towards her, catching Hermione by surprise. She was usually safe to stare at him, as he normally stood stone-still, unmoving until he straightened up and left.

"What do you want?" Malfoy's steady, clipped voice made Hermione scowl, and she got the idea that, by the end of it all, she was going to be the proud owner of a splitting headache.

She simply shrugged.

"Stop staring at me," he said coolly and turned back to Severus' prone figure.

"You are in the hospital wing, where I work. I have every right to stand here."

"Stop staring at me," he said.

Hermione didn't like the way he said that and, after all the frustration and anger that had built up in her that day, she let loose.

"You know what," said Hermione, "I don't want you here. You are irritating me and are not doing anything in here; get out."

"Excuse me?" His cold reply incensed her even further.

"You don't do anything; you sit there and stare. Then you complain about me doing the same thing! Fine. You have all the right to do that, but I also have the right to do this. I have not had a good day, I'm tired, and I'm upset. You are upsetting me even further and that may become a problem for the patients I'm in charge of. Leave."

"No! I have been nothing but tolerant of you, I am careful not to disturb you, and I am not doing any harm. You cannot kick me out!"

"Tolerant!" Hermione scoffed. "You turn your head to me as greeting, ask me about Severus, and then leave!"

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Leave!" Hermione screeched. Her head was, as she had predicted, pounding, and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. "I have so much to do, it's not even funny. Leave right now."

Malfoy got up without another word and left, shooting poisonous daggers at her through his venomous gaze.

Hermione settled in the chair at Severus' bedside, sighing deeply. The seat was still warm from Malfoy, but she didn't even care. She took Severus' hand in hers, feeling the manufactured heat come off of him. "I'll fix you, I promise," she said fervently, needing the man to wake up and comfort her, for he was the only one who knew what she did every day – the full extent of her responsibilities.

Madam Pomfrey's arrival was announced by the squeaking floor and Hermione dropped Severus' hand.

"Hello, Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione, eyes closed.

"Good evening, Hermione," came the warm, albeit tired, voice of the healer. "Have you eaten tonight?"

Hermione groaned inwardly. The last thing on her mind was food, but she knew it was necessary. She wanted more than anything else to sleep, but she had promised Harry and Ron she would go down to eat. "No, but I was just going. He's not changed a bit." The disheartened tone in her voice was evident even to her.

"Ah. I'll see you later, Hermione." With the customary pat on the head, Madam Pomfrey went to check on the other patients.

Hermione wished she would open her eyes and ask about how Hermione felt, she wished someone would. But she was strong, a Gryffindor.

She could brave through everything.

**-End Chapter 5-**


	6. Breakthrough

**-Begin Chapter 6- Oct 17**

It was Friday and her Professor had yet to reappear. Hermione worried that she had done something to offend him but had no idea how to go about finding him. He did not want to be located and was sure to be concealed. She was forced to wait until he appeared.

She remembered conversations they'd had over the past month, trying to fill her mind with things that would keep her awake.

_"Mental illnesses have nothing to do with the potency of potions and their effects on the person dosed!" She shouted at the ceiling, lying among piles of parchment – her homework._

_"Why wouldn't they? Many potions are made to adjust the way the person sees and interprets things, and sometimes they send incorrect signals to the brain, leading to, for example, swelling," He said, floating over and around her, going over to sit on her desk._

_"Damn you," she muttered. "That does make sense. If the brain interprets the message differently, then of course the result will be altered,"_

_A sly smile was found on his lips. "But don't potions have the element of magic in them? Won't the magic do as the potion-brewer intended, originally?"_

_"That's also true…" Hermione threw the potions textbook she had been studying from to the ground. "But the magic is there to stimulate and open the mind to these false signals. If the brain is unresponsive, the magic will not have an effect and therefore the potion will be useless."_

_"Very good, Miss Granger,"_

_That had been one night, the day before a large test in Potions. She'd been very grateful for his help and insight beyond what the textbook could teach her._

_"Magic isn't the only way to stimulate the mind, however, Miss Granger. List three others,"_

_She groaned, squinting at his illuminated figure. Potions excited him, which lead to his brightness level increasing. "Stop making me think," she protested, covering her eyes with her arm._

_"Do you want to fail or succeed, Granger?"_

_"Shut up," she said. Then, "Fin, to stimulate the mind using ways other than magic, one can appeal to the subject's favourite things to gain interest, one can try to get the subject to think in abstract terms, opening the mind to new ideas and suggestions."_

_"And the third, easiest way?"_

_Hermione blushed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, even though her arm was already blocking him from view. "Sexual stimulation, Professor."_

_"Correct." He said blandly, and when she looked at him he appeared nonplussed. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, Miss Granger. They are simply facts."_

He had helped her study so well that she had gotten a perfect mark on the exam, embarrassingly, the first of the year.

Where was he?

Hermione circled the bed Severus lay in, muttering under her breath. "Stupid Severus… Professor Snape… Running from your problems… Ungrateful… I work so hard! Nothing… Stupid… Wake up, idiot!"

Her commentary ran through the check of his body's vitals and she continued to mumble as she leaned over him to check something.

"What did you say?" Those cool tones could only belong to one person.

Hermione despaired inwardly. What kind of luck did she have? And the day had been going well, with no conflicts with her friends, a fairly quiet, successful day in academic terms… and then he had to show up.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" As she turned, she started. He was closer to her than she had imagined, breath coming in short puffs that she felt against her cheek.

"I asked what you said about my godfather." For the first time she could remember, Malfoy's voice broke. He sounded dreadful, full of pent-up emotion, and looked murderous.

She hadn't seen him since the explosive argument, and she wasn't in the mood for another.

"Nothing," Hermione tried to manoeuver herself away from him but he stood his ground.

"I heard you were insulting him…" Said Malfoy, threats lurking in his voice.

Hermione tried to think of what she'd been saying and had to admit that her frustrated murmuring could have sounded offensive to anyone that wasn't privy to her private thoughts. "It didn't mean anything," she said defensively.

"You'd better hope that it didn't!"

Hermione suddenly leapt to anger, her tired mind not allowing her any time to think on what that might bring. "It didn't! Why are you always here to argue with me or to irritate me beyond belief?" She asked.

"Because you're a good-for-nothing waste of space!"

"Excuse me?" Indignation coloured her voice.

"Yes, you heard me! He's getting worse, I can tell. He's slowly dying and you're not doing anything about it. But it's alright, isn't it? You don't like him, so why put in any effort to save him?"

"Do you want me to kick you out again?"

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes!" Hermione raised her chin in defiance, feeling strong.

She remembered once, when one of the Slytherins that had been brave enough to return to Hogwarts for an eighth year had whispered, "Mudblood," in her ear. She had been both shaken and hurt, because even through the war and all the losses, nothing had changed; the prejudice still existed.

Her Professor had calmed her down with soothing words, reminding her that she was destined to do better things than they were, that she should not give them a second thought.

The present reasserted itself with another of Malfoy's shouts.

"My godfather is the only family I have left. Everyone either hates me or is very distantly related – sometimes both! My parents are both in Azkaban, and you are not doing anything to save him!"

"You are not in a position to judge me," she said. "You have no idea what I'm doing to help heal him!"

"You are not doing a very good job of it, then!" He shouted loudly, raising a shaky hand as though to strike her. She saw the shakiness with which he stepped back then, saw the first tears come to his eyes, and then watched his retreating back as he quickly left the hospital wing. He was embarrassed of the tears and Hermione was faintly grateful.

Her own legs felt like they might not be able to support her weight. Arguments took a lot out of her, and that week had been one that was full of them. She felt something grip at her heart at the accusations Malfoy had made. She was doing everything she could for Severus, and Malfoy just didn't appreciate it.

Her breathing began to speed up as she thought of her waning energy levels and attention span. She had not been able to focus on anything recently, and found herself nodding off all of the time. Even that day at dinner, she had not been able to follow the conversation Ron and Harry had held.

And she had gotten her first "Poor" grade… ever. She'd failed spectacularly at one Charms practical examination, and no one had been there to comfort her. Harry and Ron had simply told her she would do better next time, her Professor wasn't there, and none of the other Professors saw fit to speak with her. It had been because she had put off Charms work in lieu of more reading on ghosts.

Malfoy didn't see that she was overworked and overtired, that she was putting so much time into helping Severus that she didn't have time for other things.

Tears were beginning to gather again, pooling and threatening to spill over, and Hermione felt that cool burst of air that she had been yearning for.

"Professor?" She asked, voice small in the forced quiet around Severus' secluded bed. "Are you there, Professor?"

"Yes, Hermione," The day seemed infinitely better once she heard her name on his lips, and the tears seemed a thing of the past. Surely this was a time to celebrate his comfort with her. "I'm here. Draco is gone, correct?"

She nodded, still searching for him. As he appeared, Hermione felt her spirit lift and her smile grow wide. "I haven't seen you in days, Professor," she said.

"It sounds as though you missed me," he joked, and Hermione had to keep herself from jumping in joy as the Professor she had gotten to know over the course of one nearly sleepless month reasserted his position. She'd grown close to him and his intolerant nature, expecting and needing his firm words to keep herself going.

"I did," she admitted truthfully. "I'm glad you're back. Would you care to explain why you were gone?"

Lines appeared on his brow, indicating the seriousness of what he was going to reveal. "I heard how little you were sleeping and went to do some… investigating." Her Professor said. "Don't be angry, just listen. I went looking in your room and found all the books you're reading that are about ghosts. I realised how much you were putting into finding a cure for me."

Hermione blushed, remembering the doodles she'd absent-mindedly drawn in the margins of some of the pieces of parchment where she recorded notes and hoped he hadn't seen them.

"I thought if I stayed out of your life for a bit, you would fill your time with things more important to your advancement in life, such as your schoolwork. I also took the time to go and speak with other ghosts."

Hermione's interest was piqued and she disregarded the invasion of privacy for the time being. "What did you find?" She asked eagerly, leaning in closer.

Just then, the curtain was pulled back and Draco Malfoy, looking immaculate once again, stepped in. He looked at Hermione in passing, sneering, and then took his usual seat. And then he caught sight of her Professor in all his ghostly glory. He hadn't had the time to disappear, as frozen in shock as Malfoy appeared to be.

There was silence in the hospital wing, no squeaking, no painful moans, no movement.

Then Malfoy exploded.

"You liar!" He pointed at Hermione. "You told me he was alive, you told me you were looking for cures! How could you do that, lie to me and give me hope that he would wake up? He's dead. He's dead and you've probably known for a long time! You liar, liar, liar!"

Then he turned and began shouting at Severus' unconscious figure. "You lied, too. You look like you're breathing, look alive, and your heart seems to be beating but it's not! You look like my dad did after he was Kissed, like you're alive. But you're not! You're dead and your ghost is right there!"

Then he turned to Professor Snape, still sitting in shock. "And you! How dare you come back as a ghost! How dare you sacrifice so much, only to come back because you have unfinished business on earth! How could you come back and not tell me you're here? You let me sit here, thinking you were going to get better! Why?"

His breathing was ragged and he looked close to tears again.

"Draco, look at me," Hermione recognised her Professor's teaching voice, smooth and devoid of emotion. "I am here, as a ghost, but I am not dead."

Malfoy shook his head, eyes tightly closed. "Yes you are… how could you not be? You're a ghost!"

Her Professor floated over to where Malfoy sat placing a hand on his shoulder. "I am not dead, I promise. See, I can touch you and you feel it. You can't walk through me, look," with that, Professor Snape leaned back towards Hermione. She shifted forward, pushing into him, but nothing happened, she did not slide through. "I am not a ghost, Draco, and Hermione is doing all she can to cure me."

But Malfoy wasn't to be placated, even with good, solid proof that Professor Snape was not exactly a ghost.

"You hate me," said Malfoy, pointing at Hermione. "You hate me and want to hurt me, but you'd better watch out because I have powerful friends that could hurt you more than you ever could me. My father-"

With that, he faltered and stalked out of the hospital wing for the second time. Hermione was shaking again, from the threat or from her proximity to her Professor's cold form, she didn't know.

Her Professor told her to get a blanket, and she performed the task quickly and efficiently, not quite allowing herself to think. She wrapped it around herself and felt her Professor lead her into her room. He led her to her bed and laid her down, proceeding to wrap two long, freezing, solid-feeling arms around her. She was glad for the blanket, for otherwise she'd be frozen in minutes, and also for the comfort.

"It's going to be alright, Hermione. Don't worry. Just stay calm, think clearly. It will blow over; you will make it through this. Be the strong woman I know you to be." Something warmed inside of Hermione, despite the icy arms encircling her. "Draco's being his usual hot-headed self. That boy should have been in Gryffindor, I swear." A chuckle filled her ears. "I see how tired you are and it scares me. You're doing such good for so many people but it will all be for naught if you don't take care of yourself. Promise me you'll try harder to sleep regularly…"

Hermione nodded, eyes drifting shut – maybe from the soothing voice, maybe from the comfort she found in her position.

As she drifted off, she thought she heard, "I care about you more than I care to admit, don't kill yourself for stupid reasons." Of course, her Professor would never say such things, and Hermione supposed her mind had come up with that.

For the first time in months, Hermione slept calmly through the whole night, dreams free of memories of the mass of dead that had littered the Hogwarts grounds, worries of deadlines and commitments blown away like the smoke from an extinguished candle, finding comfort in the cold, hardy-substantial arms of her Professor – her friend.

~)~(~)~(~

The weekend was upon Hermione, the busiest part of her week. St. Mungo's sent the list of potions they needed on weekends and she always got started promptly. She held study sessions on weekends and she planned to find time to go down to Hogsmeade with Ron and Harry.

Unfortunately, Hermione's intentions to get up early were impeded by a stern look from her Professor.

"Turn off the alarm, Miss Granger," he said. "You only slept for seven hours. Try to get in at least two more, and then I'll let you go."

She turned it off, groggy and not in the mood to argue. Besides, two more hours of sleep sounded very inviting.

When she woke again, it was to her Professor's smirking face. "I see you needed more than nine hours of rest to recover slightly," he said. "Is twelve hours a record for you, or what?"

She sat straight up, "You let me sleep for twelve hours? Twelve fucking-" Hermione looked around the room frantically, only then noticing the stream of sunlight coming in through her window. She hadn't woken up after the sun in months!

As she sat up and began to wake, Hermione was amazed to see how much clearer her mind felt. It wasn't just that she could remember the specifics of what had happened the previous day, but that she could recall the previous day easily! She looked at her Professor in amazement.

"Mind your language. I see you're feeling better," he said. "I'm glad."

Hermione's heart tingled with that statement, and though she was awake enough to analyse the reason for that, she chose not to. Instead, she hopped up and out of bed.

"Wow, I feel amazing!" She sent a dazzling smile to her Professor, who just shook his head. "What time is it?"

"Around ten," answered her Professor.

"Good, I am not late for the study session," she said.

But the door was blocked by him immediately. "No," he said. "You're not going anywhere."

"Why not?" She was eager to get started with the day, used to the way her Pepper-Up potions and the coffee she drank wore off so quickly she had to take advantage of the time she had.

"There are a few things we need to discuss," he revealed, and Hermione felt her interest rise at the statement.

"Such as," prompted Hermione.

"What I learned from the ghosts I visited," he answered.

"Ah, yes!" Hermione exclaimed. She remembered being cut off by Malfoy's reappearance. "Do tell… now! I really do want to know."

"I see your eagerness to learn is back with a vengeance," said her Professor, rueful smile on his face. "Maybe I'll give it a second thought next time, before I let you rest."

"Yes, well, get on with it!" Hermione, feeling full of energy, exclaimed. "I don't have all day."

Her Professor raised his eyebrow at that comment but made no protests. "Very well," he said. "I have discovered and proven that I am not a ghost. I do not have the same properties they do and not one ghost I talked to had ever heard about the way I sometimes… glow," he said the word distastefully, as though it was offensive to talk about himself that way. "They found it strange that I arrived here, looking like a ghost, in the clothes my body is wearing, and I did not experience the ripping sensation they described when they were pushed back to earth. In fact, I have no recollection of the time between nearly dying," he swallowed nervously and Hermione followed his words carefully, "And waking up as this." He pointed at himself to demonstrate.

Hermione nodded. "What do you think you are, then?"

Her Professor sighed. "That's what I am highly confused about," he confessed. "I have no idea what I could be or what might have prompted this."

She looked to the side, deep in thought. With her newly awakened mind, fresh and free of sleepiness, she felt like she could solve the mystery. It was one of the things she liked best, working backwards to analyse and discover how and why things worked the way they did.

She had loved doing that since she was young, when she took apart a clock to see how it functioned, broken a light bulb to see what was inside, and read every book there was available about how and why certain "paranormal" phenomena occurred.

She was still figuring out how it was that magic worked but everything was to take second place to figuring out how to save her Professor. There was something burning inside of her that desperately wanted Severus to wake up.

"…Hermione?" Her Professor's voice cut through her thoughts.

"Yes," she answered, still thinking. She broke from her little reverie, easier to do now that she was feeling better than she had in months, and turned to him. She sensed the importance of what he was going to say.

"These notes," he began. "Where did you get them? Are they your own thoughts?"

He held up one of the pieces of parchment she'd scribbled notes on, surprising Hermione. She hadn't known he could interact with material objects; more proof he was not a ghost.

There was a sentence on the sheet that was underlined many times.

It read; _ghosts are not souls, they are spirits._

Hermione's brow furrowed, but she couldn't decipher quite why that was of any importance.

"Yes, I took the note down from one of the books I read… It was in the library," she blushed. "That day I yelled at you. Speaking of which, I do apologise."

He shook his head dismissively, "It doesn't matter; that's in the past. Do you think I am a… soul? If ghosts are spirits and I am not a ghost, logically I am not a spirit…"

Hermione shrugged, though her mind was whirring, "It's possible," she admitted. "I will have to do some reading up on it."

"Miss Granger," Hermione felt her heart sink a little at the retreat to formality. "I see I am keeping you against your will, go and do what you need to do. I'll be around somewhere." The last part was spoken cryptically as he faded to nothing. Hermione shook her head at his theatrics.

Hermione nodded; she had been getting antsy as the time of her usual study sessions approached. She inclined her head, "Thank you, Professor."

And with that, she rushed to the library, reminding herself mentally to pick up some books about spirits and souls. Something niggled at Hermione, but she couldn't put her finger on what exactly. Soon enough, those ideas were replaced by more academic thoughts as she began her tutoring session.

One of the more boring sections of these two hour-long study periods was the inevitable History of Magic part – one of the few subjects Hermione was good, not excellent, at.

_"…But Hermione, why is it that dementors were introduced to Azkaban?"_

_"… That doesn't make sense! What do they do with the souls they sucked out?"_

Occasionally, they got off topic.

_"… Hermione, isn't it against the law to kill people? That's why, you know, the AK curse is not allowed. So is that why dementors were allowed, because they don't kill you but it seems like it?"_

Sometimes, she hated the History of Magic discussions, but as they had finally progressed from the innumerable Goblin Rebellions, she found herself liking it more.

_"Yes, exactly! Why do you think there are no longer executions, except when it is truly necessary? They order the Kiss, and then the person is as good as dead without really being so."_

_"Executions have slowly been outlawed as more, newer, better ideas came to light."_

_"What have we learned about in Transfiguration about magical auras, souls, and spirits? Why is it that we can transfigure something with no spirit but not that which has magic and is essentially power?"_

_"One can live without magic; appear living with no soul; but…?"_

_"So what do dementors take?"_

_"How is this different from what we learned about the Great Lash of Azkaban, in which the occupants, even the Kissed, somehow used their spirits to bring their souls back, after which they sent strong magical surges through the grounds? Why and how did they bring forth such mayhem? How was this possible? What part did the souls play? Do you think magic and souls are linked, after reading this case study?"_

She left the session feeling as though she had cleared many things up for her peers, and felt confident as she walked to the familiar shelf of books about ghosts.

"Goodbye, Hermione. Thanks! You look a lot better today, I hope whatever you've been dealing with has passed," the friendly Hufflepuff called out behind her.

"I will see you tomorrow," promised Hermione. "Yes, thank you."

She perused the piles and stacks, looking for anything that might be promising, but before she could even turn her head to the side to read the title of an old tome that looked both old and interesting, a strange sensation wrapped its way up her spine, making her freeze in her spot. She heard whispered words, loud in the silent section of the library, but it was as though they were being spoken through water, slow and sluggish.

The cold, not the kind she was used to from her Professor's arrivals, spread out through her limbs and she fell, limp, to the ground. The blackness around her swallowed her up and she fell into it, mouth open but shouts refusing to exit.

~)~(~)~(~

Hermione was awake, but all around her was darkness. She could feel pain in her stomach and shoulder, as though she was lying on something pointy and hard – like a book – but there was nothing there.

Thinking hard, she sat down on the black ground, trying to figure it out. She supposed she could be asleep and that this could be a lucid dream, because as she thought about it, she remembered being hit with some spell. It had brought on a strong lethargy that had made it hard to move, and she didn't think that would just wear away.

She decided to test something.

Suddenly, she jumped up, staying curled up in the air and landing with a hard thud on the hard ground. She didn't feel anything, and felt satisfied. She had proven this wasn't actually happening.

But then there was another thing; where was she, and how could she get out?

Hermione, deciding that there was no time like the present, tried to come up with a list of things she could try in her head.

The first was, of course, to try and fall asleep. She wondered if she could dream her way out of the land she was in, but put it last on her list.

Then came the idea to simply wait it out; she couldn't stay asleep forever. But then, with magic, who knew? Maybe she had been cursed with a sleep-spell and was destined to spend the rest of her days in this... this place of nothing.

She had read somewhere that if there was a mirror in a dream and the dreamer looked into the mirror, it would wake them up. She supposed it was worth a try, but wasn't quite sure how to go about getting said mirror.

So Hermione sat there, mind hard at work. She was glad for the extra sleep she had gotten, for otherwise she suspected she would not have felt this calm. Her mind was immediately filled with warm thoughts about her Professor, the reason she felt ready for anything, and she wondered what he would think once – if at all – he saw that she had been cursed.

She wondered momentarily if he would care or if she would be considered one more person he'd lost in his life, and then told herself to stop being so morose. She wasn't lost, she had simply not been found yet.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to think of a mirror, willing it to appear. Minutes, hours, or maybe days passed, and she finally opened them again. There was nothing but the same empty darkness. Hermione's eyebrows met as she scowled – something she had picked up after all the time spent with her Professor – and she felt discouraged.

She sat there, trying to think of solutions, for a time that seemed as long as days or even weeks, and at the same time as though she had only just blinked. She felt no stiffness, stuck in the position she was in, nor did she get hungry or thirsty like she normally would after some time.

But suddenly, the black was illuminated with flashes of light, a deep brown colour that reminded her of fertile soil, the kind that could bear many fruits and vegetables, many plants. It was mixed with a colour that reminded her of her Professor, for whatever reason. It was a deep red, mixed with splashes of green. The bright light seared her eyes, but she couldn't bear to close them.

It stopped abruptly, pitching her back into the dark. There were surges of energy rolling through her, she felt, and her eyes began to close…

**-End Chapter 6-**


	7. Breathing Fresh Air

**-Begin Chapter 7- Oct 17**

She didn't have time to be alarmed before her eyes opened and the white of the hospital wing reached her eyes. She squinted, finally able to make out the face of Madam Pomfrey, hard at work.

"Oh, you're awake," the relief was apparent in her voice, and Hermione understood that the healer was grateful that she'd woken up.

Ever the curious student, she asked, "What happened?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to rest before I explain it to you?" The Healer asked.

Hermione shook her head, "I'd like to know what was done to me," she said.

"Hmm," Said Madam Pomfrey as she poked at Hermione's ribs and stomach. There was the blue-green light of healing spells hovering over her body, though from what Hermione could see they all declared her right as rain. "We don't know exactly what happened, but you were hit with an advanced stunning curse mixed with a leg-locking jinx and a sleep-inducing hex. We don't know who cast it, though the results of the magical signature will be ready soon enough. You were sent into a deep slumber and were knocked out. That was an hour ago, maybe more. Madam Pince found you after hearing some commotion – probably you falling over, as you got hit by some falling books – and began to bring you here. Something happened along the way, a strong magical… explosion, or something. We believe that's what brought you back to consciousness; else I suspect we would still have you asleep here. We are looking into all these events, I assure you."

Hermione knew, somehow, that her Professor was the cause of the intense magic. She also linked the surge to the strange lights she had seen in the dream world. Something heartfelt and sincere bloomed in her heart at the knowledge that her Professor was watching out for her, and a small smile lit up her face.

"I must say that you will be on bed rest for at least a week, as you suffer from a mild concussion – easily fixed but still something to be careful about – and have been found to be completely drained of energy and magic levels."

Hermione sat up straight, "What does that mean?" She could hear the worry in her own voice.

Madam Pomfrey laid a soothing hand on Hermione's, pushing her back into her original reclined position. "It's nothing to worry about. Sometimes, when people are exceptionally tired, their magic is used as energy. The magic levels become depleted after long stretches of time, and it is crucial that the magic be left to recuperate. It's this energy," added the Mediwitch with a wry smile twisting her lips. "That allows magical beings to have a longer life span than non-magical creatures, if you were wondering."

Hermione laughed; the healer knew her well, she saw.

The bed rest was argued upon, and Hermione negotiated with the Mediwitch. Instead of a week, she talked herself into five days; until the following Wednesday.

Hermione protested a bit, but Madam Pomfrey assured her the potions for St. Mungo's would be taken care of, her schoolwork could be brought to her and made up at a later time, and that Severus could manage a few more days without her. Hermione nodded, making Madam Pomfrey promise to bring regular updates about the goings-on of the hospital wing, especially Severus, and agreed to sleep.

~)~(~)~(~

When she woke, Hermione felt disoriented for the space of a few seconds. She looked around the room, jumping in shock when she saw her Professor floating by the window. He was looking out, and Hermione took the moment to really look at him. He appeared contemplative, staring out, looking vulnerable with his pearly-white skin and hands tucked into his trouser pockets. Hermione had to grin when she saw him bite on his lip, a habit she knew he'd picked up from her.

"Professor," Her voice was hoarse, but she didn't care.

He started, turning around and looking at her quickly. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't realize you were awake."

"Professor, do you know who did it?" She didn't need to explain anything to him, knowing he would understand her question.

"I believe it was Draco," he admitted, sighing. "I confess I believe I should have spoken with him earlier, and that he is acting under shock."

She shook her head, "I think it was him, too. I don't know what to make of him, Professor. Sometimes he's pleasant and other times he's downright nasty to be around."

"He always was an, er, strange child," said her Professor.

Hermione gave him a curious look, "Are you allowed to say things like that about your godson?" She asked playfully.

He shrugged, "What he doesn't know won't hurt him, and I don't think you'll tell him."

"Oh, what makes you say that?"

"Hmmm…" Her Professor assumed a thoughtful pose. "I don't think you would ever willingly speak to him, you don't enjoy hurting anybody's feelings. And… I did, in fact, save your life."

He had floated closer, an almost not-there smile sitting on his lips.

"Oh yeah?" Challenged Hermione.

"Yes, I did."

"Well then, it only seems fair that now I save your life. I have a week off of everything – no responsibilities or things I must do – and I propose we spend it finding ways to cure you."

"That sounds… agreeable."

"Wonderful," Hermione shot him an indulging smile and burst into laughter at his questioningly-raised eyebrow. "However, you must go get the books."

"How do you propose I do that?"

"You're a magical being, figure it out for yourself," Hermione said. She stopped there, mind racing. "You did use magic to help me, didn't you?" Hermione asked.

He looked baffled by her change in demeanor, but nodded in response.

"Magical beings, linked to souls…" Hermione muttered under her breath. "Azkaban, Great Lash…"

"Are you alright, Hermione?"

"Yes, yes," she said, distracted. "Ghosts are not souls, they're spirits. Souls are magical, most ghosts are not… Wait! Dementors eat souls, extract them from the spirit and magic, both of which stop working partially because of the missing soul."

Her Professor moved closer, eyes narrowed but looking deep in thought. "Are you saying-" He began.

Hermione cut him off, "Malfoy said Severus looked like his dad after he was Kissed."

Her Professor's eyes widened, "Dementors take souls, I am the embodiment of my soul, or so we think."

Hermione's eyes were glazed over in concentration, "We don't just think, we know. We know souls are linked to magic through history, and we know you are not a spirit."

"How did this happen?"

"Shh!" Hermione scrambled to reach for a piece of parchment and a quill, writing it all out. "Dementors use a form of spiritual magic to sever the tie between spirit and soul. They then mimic the energy of a spirit to attract the soul. I don't know if it's possible to reverse the Kiss."

Her Professor interjected, "But I wasn't Kissed. I was nearly killed. My soul and spirit were severed because they were leaving my body – in death, supposedly – but your stasis spell warped the process. I think that's what ripped the soul and spirit apart. My spirit was returned to my body, keeping me alive-"

"My stasis spell kept your soul from being lost in the unknown, and so it hovered here, like a ghost."

"But-"

Hermione plowed on, unstoppable. "How can we expose your soul and spirit, so that they can return as one?"

They were stumped.

"They say the eyes are the window to the soul," said Hermione, scribbling it down.

She gasped and pointed to the pile of books on the floor beside her bed.

"Find the book that is the third from the bottom!" She shouted. "I don't know if it's helpful but do it!"

Her Professor, caught up in the excitement of discovery, easily tapped into his magical power and summoned the book. It landed on Hermione's lap, and she gazed at him for a second. "Do you think what you just did was easier than it was as you healed me because your body is in the next room?"

He shrugged, the thought having never crossed his mind.

She remembered abruptly the goal she had and dove into the book with a fervor that her Professor had not seen since his younger days, when hours could be spent reading and rereading old books.

"Aha!" Hermione's triumphant shout filled the room, "All that spirits desire, spirits attain. He's a famous philosopher that studied souls and life. Muggle, or so we think, but brilliant all the same."

Her Professor nodded, not quite understanding. "So my spirit, if we're going by these quotes and beliefs, must really desire to be reunited with my soul, and my soul will meet my spirit through my eyes?"

"Yes!" Hermione's excitement was contagious, but her Professor was a little skeptical.

"How will we do that?"

Hermione seemed to deflate just a little, but she instantly began coming up with ideas.

"If I lift the stasis spell from your body, I think it will wake up and act the way Malfoy said those who have been Kissed do. I think it will live, breathe, and survive on its own, but it will almost be lifeless. If we get it to open its eyes and get it to desire something – anything, I think – and you look in its eyes…" She shrugged. "It's not the best idea, but it's one nonetheless."

They spent the day talking about ideas, but Hermione kept going back to the original one.

"I didn't want to lift the stasis spell because I didn't know what would happen,"

"You still don't know," said her Professor, playing devil's advocate.

"But we have fairly solid proof that your body will behave like normal, simply without a soul. Like the people at Azkaban…"

"But we have no way of knowing if the "window to the soul," "desire leads to success," will really work."

"True,"

"I could be stuck like this forever," he said. "And we haven't even researched other things."

"You would be stuck like this forever if we didn't try anything," she reminded him, "And let me tell you that I have researched my arse off, all of this time."

"Not with these new revelations and conclusions," he said.

"That is true." She admitted.

He looked at her crestfallen face, "Hermione," he said. "I am not being unappreciative of all you have done for me; I would just like to be realistic."

"I know, I just feel like I should have thought of this all earlier, been able to read up on it more." She felt and sounded disheartened.

Her Professor waited until she looked at him. Hermione didn't know what was going on in those unfathomable, dark eyes. "I'll do it," he said.

Hermione's eyes widened, "Oh, no! Professor, don't do this just because of me! Honestly, we can research more, come up with different ideas…"

"I have faith that you have done what you can. I trust that you will not kill me, and I know you will do your best. I think we can do this," He looked nervous even as he was saying it, and Hermione knew it was a risk that he was taking.

"Professor, are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Hermione. I know you can do this," His strong voice betrayed no concern, only trust and confidence. Hermione didn't know if his blind faith was a good thing, though it warmed her, deep inside. She felt his confidence begin to wipe away her worries and decided to rush in like the good Gryffindor she was.

"Alright, let's do it." Upon thinking for a few more seconds, she decided she couldn't be entirely reckless about it. "But first, a plan."

Despite all of their hasty declarations, it took them all of Hermione's bed rest to come up with a plan. Hermione had gotten her Professor to keep an eye on Madam Pomfrey's routine, working out the best times to sneak out and do the magic. The Professor had somehow gotten his ghostly hands on books about dementor magic, and Hermione had done all the research she possibly could have on the subject. They had agreed that she would lead Severus, trussed up in a fancy Disillusionment charm, down to the Potions classroom.

They had decided that was soemthing he was passionate about, and that it would be enough to spark something in his spirit.

"Give me the parchment," ordered her Professor.

"Come and get it," challenged Hermione absentmindedly, reading over their plans one last time.

"Don't make me come over there," his stern expression was belied by the joking in his voice. "I could make you give it to me if I really wanted to." The threat fell short with his little snort of laughter. "Right, I forgot I'm speaking with the most stubborn person-"

"Would you like to finish that statement?" Hermione had her hands on her hips and a challenging expression on her face.

Her Professor scoffed, "Oh no," he mocked. "I'm so frightened."

She laughed at that, "As well you should be," she said, returning to the page, worrying at her bottom lip. "Alright, I believe we are ready." She declared.

And with that, their plan began.

**-End Chapter 7-**


	8. The Future Awaits

**-Begin Chapter 8- Oct 22**

Hermione watched her Professor fade into nothingness and took a big breath to steady herself. With that thought in mind, she stepped into the hospital wing. Giving a cursory glance of the wing, she understood that Madam Pomfrey was not there, and probably in the potions laboratory she had at St. Mungo's.

Hermione had used the one at Hogwarts simply because it was easier, but the Mediwitch liked her personalised laboratory more.

She noticed that many of the other patients in the wing were either asleep or unconscious – one of the reasons they had chosen to do this at night – and let out a sigh of relief. All was going according to plan.

Then, Hermione turned into Severus' area, pulling the curtain back. She pulled out her wand and, with butterflies fluttering in her stomach, murmured the reversal incantation to the stasis spell she had cast all those months earlier. She waited for something to happen, hoping that it would all work out the way it was meant to.

Soon enough, her wishes were fulfilled, for Severus opened his eyes. She took off the spells that regulated his breathing, choosing to let him be free. He looked at her, eyes cold and detached. Hermione shivered at the gaze, hating the hollow look that filled it. She had not expected him to start talking, but the emptiness was chilling.

She took a few steps toward him, slowly, speaking in a low tone. "It's all going to be alright, Severus. Come here. Stand up, there's a good patient," she had unknowingly shifted into her Healer voice, the same soothing timbre as the one Madam Pomfrey used. "Come here."

She wasn't sure if it was the stiffness borne from months of lying in the same position or the mechanical way each action was delivered, but Hermione felt a deep urge to help him. She thought he would be sore after weeks and weeks of doing nothing, and didn't rush him.

As he stood, as per her instructions, Hermione looped one arm around him, disregarding the cool skin that her hand brushed, and cast the Disillusionment charm. She felt the unique sensation that told her they were being turned invisible, and began to make her way out of the hospital wing.

The door swung open with no prompting from Hermione, and she wondered if her Professor could see them or if he was just guessing their location.

The trip down to the Potions classroom was uneventful save for an almost-mishap involving Filch and his cat, but Hermione's heart pounded anyway.

The door once again swung open and she maneuvered them inside. She sat Severus down at his desk, one that had been occupied by some Professor or another for the few months Hogwarts had been open. It looked right with him in it, though he was out of place with no menacing cloak on and the empty look.

She began talking to him about potions, urging him to converse. He did nothing, unresponsive until she got right up in his face. At that, something sparked in his eyes, and Hermione thought she recognised irritation.

Hermione began yelling and started doing the things she knew truly angered Severus. She started talking about the theories of potions – making sure to get each and every fact wrong – and bragged about stealing potions ingredients from his stores.

She leaned over the desk at him, catching the momentary furrowing of his brows. She panted, the shouting being an exerting exercise, and waited for a moment.

She got a wild idea just then, one that had never occurred to her and that she knew her Professor would kill her for. She wasn't sure what had prompted it, but she was worked up and knew a way to get rid of that.

Wicked smile on her lips and something shouting at her that she shouldn't go through with it, she leaned in even closer.

She whispered, "Oh, Severus-Poo. I love you, my sweetums," knowing it could only rile him up, and then placed a kiss on his unresponsive lips.

Despite the fact that she was getting a minimal reaction, Hermione continued. She used her limited skills to get his lips to give, just a little, using her height advantage to push him back further. Her tongue met his and she felt stirrings of movement within him.

Heady with excitement and victory, Hermione pressed harder. She detached their lips to place kisses down his exposed neck, biting down hard and leaving deep, purple-red marks. She pushed him back and crawled over the desk, sitting on his lap.

Inside of her, a battle raged. One side of her protested fully that this was wrong, that she would get everyone in trouble, that her Professor would murder her brutally for it, and that she was going completely overboard and practically molesting a man that was all but brain-dead…

And yet another side of her was blind with eagerness to succeed, a part of her that had been well-hidden and yearned for him to respond to her advances. That part shouted at her to continue, to get him to do something, anything.

Her hands roamed his bare chest, using her nails and leaving red marks as she scratched down his back. She used her teeth to tease his skin, laving over the exposed and reddened skin with fervor.

She stopped, grappling with indecision for a second, but upon seeing his brighter eyes she continued. He was responding slightly to this carnal desire and need, not needing his soul to want it.

She pressed the heel of her hand to the noticeable bulge in his trousers, using her nimble fingers to trace the outline and tease him further. He made no sound but pushed up into her palm, making Hermione grin into the crook of his neck. Still using her hands to stimulate him, she shouted over her shoulder.

"Do it now, Professor!"

It was the right moment, and the room was filled with a dazzling white light. She stopped her actions and watched as the apparition that was her Professor locked gazes with Severus. She watched the tension between them increase, air between them crackling with energy and magic.

There was a loud 'pop' and the ghost that she had gotten so used to disappeared. White light shone through Severus' eyes and Hermione sat, transfixed. This was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and she tried to keep track of everything that was happening.

Severus was almost shaking, magical power rolling off of him in waves that stung Hermione like little electrical shocks. The air was still everywhere else and a deafening silence filled the room. She waited… and waited, and waited.

The light began to dim and the room was thrown back into darkness. There were a few candles burning, but it was nothing. Hermione blinked a few times to allow her eyes time to get used to the dark, and felt stirrings of activity beneath her.

With a start, she realised she was still sitting atop Severus.

Scrambling back, Hermione waited for the explosion. Instead, Severus looked beseechingly at her, arms held out.

Mystified, Hermione leaned into the hug.

"Thank you so much," his voice was hoarse and rusty from a long time of being unused. The words were said into her wild hair, mumbled straight to her. She was still puzzled beyond belief, but let herself relax into the embrace.

Too soon, he pushed her away.

"We have much to talk about," he said. "But I must thank you."

Hermione nodded, eyes sparkling with tears. They had done it! Rescued Severus, saved him! She had done it.

He stood, eyebrow rising as he saw her position on his desk. "Kindly get off of my desk and straighten your clothes. I'll get back to the hospital wing; I thank you once again for everything."

She watched, eyes wide with disbelief, as he retreated from the room, looking almost comical in his half-dressed state.

Throwing caution to the wind, Hermione ran after him. "Don't you dare," she warned.

"Excuse me, Miss Granger?"

"Don't you dare try to go back to the way things were; everything is different now."

"Nothing has changed. I am your Professor, you are my student."

"No. You're not," challenged Hermione. "You saved my life, I saved yours. We are equal, and I would even go so far as to say that we are friends. As such, we will walk to the hospital wing together, so that we can both explain to Madam Pomfrey how you woke up. "

Severus was at a loss for words, or so it seemed. "Very well, Miss-"

"Ahem," Hermione cleared her throat, pulling herself up to full height and taking on an arrogant look.

Severus rolled his eyes, making Hermione believe that not all was lost, and continued, "Very well, Hermione. Let us go."

She nodded, satisfied.

It was past midnight, she knew, and Hermione knew Madam Pomfrey would be doing her final rounds of the hospital wing. The woman would be terrified if she saw that Severus was missing, so Hermione was determined to make it back before that discovery was made.

Things were not to go in her favour, however, because they encountered a wandering student almost immediately after exiting the Potions room.

"Draco," Severus called out, looking shocked and unprepared. Hermione watched as he pulled on his usual mask of disdain, striding down the corridor intimidatingly. "Mister Malfoy," he called again.

Malfoy, who had been looking out the window, whirled around. His eyes were red and his arms were crossed. He looked more vulnerable than Hermione had ever seen him.

He looked disbelieving at Severus and her, blinking a few times and going so far as to rub his eyes. "No!" He sounded hoarse, and Hermione knew he had been crying. "You're dead."

"Obviously," said Severus. "I'm not."

"But… I saw your ghost." He trembled, looking weak.

"That was not, as I tried to prove to you that night," reminded Severus. "My ghost. That was my soul, and Hermione helped me link my soul and my spirit – using my magic – back together. I am back, Draco… be frightened."

The joke fell slightly flat, though Hermione found it amusing, because Malfoy launched himself into Severus' arms. Hermione wondered if two hugs in one day – her and Malfoy – would be the thing to send him back into a coma, and waited.

She heard the soft murmur of words that were said to quietly for her to make out; a short conversation took place between Malfoy and Severus. Malfoy nodded and Severus continued, in his brisk pace, down the corridor. Hermione made a move to follow, but Malfoy caught her arm.

"Granger," he said. "I owe you an apology – several, if memory serves. He told me to tell you that he would handle things at the hospital wing." Hermione nodded at that, though her eyes still followed Severus until he disappeared from view, turning a corner.

"Will you walk with me?" He asked, nose sounding stuffed up and making his voice even more nasally than usual. Hermione took pity on him and nodded, following behind him. She'd seen the way Severus had embraced him, despite what Draco had done to her, and decided to trust Severus' judgement.

"See," he began. "I was the one to curse you… on Friday? I was going to do something worse – a variation of the Cruciatus I read about in one of father's notes. I couldn't do it, though, so I sent you to sleep. I see you're awake, though." That was said with an apologetic smile.

Hermione wasn't placated, however. "And I'm supposed to be grateful you didn't use and Unforgiveable, only something that might have put me to sleep forever?" Her voice was tight.

"No!" He shouted. "I would just like to tell you why I did what I did. My entire family is in Azkaban, Granger. All of them except for Severus, my godfather. You have to understand that my life is a mess right now. I have no friends,"

Hermione scoffed at that, "Serves you right, evil bastard," she muttered unfairly.

He seemed hurt but continued. "I have no one and nothing. Everyone hates me and the only person I thought I could count on was Severus. Even after learning he was in a coma, I believed he would wake up; I practically prayed! I saw how tired you always were, and I guess that led me to feel resentful. If you were tired, you obviously couldn't take good care of my godfather."

She nodded.

"The past few weeks have been hard on me – with my Father's birthday came… so many Howlers. I have not been feeling my best, and they even wrote a terrible article about him and me in the Prophet. That, added up, is what left me so tetchy and angry."

"It's no excuse for cursing me," she said.

"I know that! However, I hope you don't hate me, and can understand that there is a lot of pressure on me to live up to everything people tell me I'm not. When the one person I thought I could count on showed up as a ghost – or what looked like a ghost – I went mad." His voice had gotten stronger, less scratchy, but it was still vulnerable. "You don't have to forgive me, but try to understand. The only person I care about right now seemed dead!"

Hermione cocked her head to the side, thinking hard. If anyone she truly cared about was in mortal danger, and she had no one else to go to, she might have also reacted in anger. It was still no excuse, she thought.

"I read up on ways to get revenge – because everyone and their grandmothers seem to think I am some evil incarnate and I was too tired to want to keep proving them wrong – but I decided against it at the last second."

He was pleading by then, "I really am sorry," he said. "I don't know what I was thinking, but I'm tired of everyone believing the worst in me… I scared myself, Granger. I've never done that before. I can be evil, do terrible things, but recent years and events have taught me not to act rashly. I've developed, if you'll believe it, a conscience. I was angry, really angry, and wanted to apologize. Please."

"Malfoy, I don't know if I can really forgive the intent with which you acted, but I will forget the action and give you a second chance. I think you have the potential to be a good person, and I would feel terrible if I condemned you for crimes you didn't commit – your father did."

He looked grateful. "Thank you," he said, relief flooding his voice.

"That doesn't mean I'm your best friend," she said. "And it also doesn't mean that if you convinced me to want to forgive that you will get everyone else to do the same. I understand you have struggles and that most were not brought upon you by your actions, but I will not bail you out of things you have done."

"I wasn't expecting anything, just to hear that you will think about forgiving me."

She nodded. For a minute, the only sounds in the corridor were the sounds of their shoes. Somehow, they had made their way back to the hospital wing, from which Madam Pomfrey's astonished-sounding yelling escaped.

Hermione turned to Draco. "Goodnight, Malfoy."

He nodded, and then winked. "Good luck with Severus," he said. Then, he turned and left, leaving Hermione absolutely gobsmacked, standing in the corridor.

What was with crazy Slytherins?

Hermione pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, readying herself for the storm that was to come, positive she would come out of it unscathed.

**-End Chapter 8-**

**The End!**

**Thanks for reading, I hope it was as enjoyable for you as it was for me to write. Leave me a review (and, possibly, tell me if you'd still like the mild lime ending I also have, though I would probably upload it as a seperate fic)?**

**Thanks again!**


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